


Well, I Guess it Would be Nice

by ElloPoppet



Series: Cross My Heart (Add it to the List) [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Feels, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Hugs, Idiots in Love, LITERALLY, M/M, Massage, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Oblivious, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Indulgent, Shooting Range, Slow Burn, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Therapy, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloPoppet/pseuds/ElloPoppet
Summary: “I want it to be Barton,” Bucky said, and Clint let loose a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, because of course Barnes would choose……Barton? As in Clint? As in himself?Aw, what.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get enough of these two together, and I'm a total geek for touch-starvation tropes. This is mostly going to be self-indulgent angst/fluff and recovering Bucky, because dammit if he doesn't deserve good things. Good, Clint-shaped things.
> 
> Rating not likely to change, I'm flying off the cuff with this one but it doesn't feel like smut will really fit into it. But what do I know, I'm just writing the thing. We'll see. 
> 
> Tags to be added. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own. I don't have a regular posting schedule in mind but I'm hoping it will be semi-regular.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! My soul is nourished by comments and kudos. Thanks for reading!

Clint knew that the whole thing was a bad idea before Bucky even walked into the room. 

He couldn’t think of many people who wouldn’t feel intimidated or at least vastly confused should they enter a room expecting Captain America and instead find themselves stared down by no less than ten Avengers. And Spider-Man, but he wasn’t full time and besides, nobody ever really knew where he was staring from behind the mask. 

Which wasn’t the point. The point, Clint remembered, was that Tony had somehow managed to convince Steve to give the order for everyone to come around to hold an intervention for Barnes. Which, okay, the reason they were staging this little shindig was pretty valid but Clint figured that this would be a matter better suited for a one-on-one or two-on-one max conversation. He had been vetoed in that idea, supposedly because Steve figured presenting a united front would be most supportive. In reality, Clint thought that Steve was scared to talk to Bucky about it on his own. 

“Uh…” Bucky said eloquently from the doorway, frozen midstep, eyes wide open. A pretty decent imitation of a baby deer in headlights, Clint mused. 

Aw.

“Hey, Buck. Why don’t you come have a seat with us?” Steve said softly, motioning towards the only empty seat at the table. A small mercy, Steve was sitting at the head of the table, so at least Barnes wouldn’t be both the figurative and literal center of attention. Clint considered himself fortunate to be sitting at the ass opposite end of the table between Rhodes and Tasha; even if he couldn’t hide behind them, that was the purpose of his extra large and loose hoodie. 

Bucky hesitated for a moment more before a resigned look swept his features and he inched slowly towards the empty chair. After he was fully seated, Steve reached over to help him push in the chair and Bucky visibly flinched away from him, causing him to nearly collide with Sam on his other side. Sam, to his credit, didn’t even make a move to put his arms or hands up and instead leaned away from Bucky, ensuring that contact didn’t happen. 

It was almost too fitting of a way to get the ball rolling, and Clint internally groaned. Fuck. They had been right to do this, after all. 

“Coulda given a guy a bit of a warning, dontcha think?” Bucky said to Steve, and yeah, there was a bite of accusation there. Steve’s ears went red and he cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry. I figured you wouldn’t want to talk with all of us, but I think it’s important that everybody be here for this, for you.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in slight shock, and his chin trembled ever so slightly.

“Are you…” Bucky started, before looking down the table to find Tony. “Are you kickin’ me out of the tower?”

Clint’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. Oh, oh no. They were all the fuckin’ worst. 

“You wound me, Push Pop. Of course we’re not kicking you out. Right after I just hooked up your beautiful new appendage? Though in hindsight I can see why you may think that, what with this production and all.” Tony stared at Steve, a clear apology written in his features. Both of Steve’s eyebrows were raised in a challenge, and Clint could see the mental ping pong ball hurling back and forth between them as they silently argued. Great, just what they needed, right on the cusp of everyone having finally gotten over their Team Cap vs. Team Iron Man bullshit.

“Right, so, can we put the poor guy out of his misery and tell him what we’re all doin’ here or what?” Clint blurted, unable to handle the building tension between Steve and Tony on top of Bucky’s obviously building anxiety. 

“Right,” Steve said, nodding curtly at Clint. Bucky met Clint’s eyes briefly before skirting away to refocus on Steve.

“Look, Bucky, we’re all just...worried, about you. You’ve been here for a few months now, and you’ve done great on your first few missions with the team. We all know that you’ve been keeping up with your therapy and getting used to your new arm.” Steve stopped talking and thank Christ for that. The sappiness seeping into Cap’s voice was giving Clint an aching tooth.

“...okay? What are you worried about, then?” Bucky asked, looking even more perplexed. Steve opened his mouth and closed it again, gaping like a fish out of water. A fish who was really shitty at choosing words, it seemed.

Sam cleared his throat at Bucky’s other side. “Everything Steve said is true. It’s just that we’ve all noticed that you seem afraid, or maybe just unwilling, to touch us. To be tactile. And if you don’t want to, man, that’s fine, but we just want to either know that, know your boundaries, or know what to do to help you be more comfortable.” 

Bless Sam Wilson, Clint thought. 

At first, Bucky looked like he was going to deny what Sam had said, his eyebrows creasing and his mouth opening to form words that didn’t come. It took every fiber of Clint’s strength to not laugh at Captain America and the Winter Soldier, mouths opening and closing like idiots nearly in tandem. It was painfully adorable. 

Bucky’s cheeks started to flush then, as the realization settled over him. His shoulders slumped and his head hung forward, long locks of hair falling from behind his ears and creating a curtain that Clint couldn’t see through. Bucky mumbled something under his breath that Clint couldn’t understand. Russian? Must have been, with the way that Tasha tensed beside Clint.

“Nobody thinks that, James.” Natasha’s voice was kind but steady, leaving no room for argument and aw damn, Barnes must have said something self-deprecating. Clint was all too familiar with self-hatred, had been in and out of that boat many times himself, but he didn’t like the thought that his team members also fought that war with themselves. 

“What is it that we don’t think, Natasha?” Thor asked, his voice booming across the table, causing half of them to visibly startle. Natasha shook her head in response, and gestured to Bucky. Thor turned his attention from her to him expectantly, and Bucky sighed as though defeated.

“I don’t want you to think I’m gonna hurt you. Any of you.”

Thor smiled brightly at Bucky. “Our Soldier, Natasha’s statement stands true. Would I have come to Midgard for this roundtable discussion to support a man that I fear? Only a fool would do so.” 

Clint caught the ghost of a smile tug on Bucky’s lips, because Thor just had that effect. Further down the table, Bruce cleared his throat modestly in a quiet demand for attention.

“Everyone here welcomed me in, Bucky. Even after getting up close to the other guy. I spent a long time isolated, afraid to hurt people I cared about, and it took some getting used to sharing my space, but it’s nice. It’s calming, and grounding to have physical human contact. I’m not a psychiatrist, Sam’s probably the closest we’ve got to that, but he’s here, agreeing with the rest of us too. Does it mean anything to you, that we’re all here?”

Bucky licked his lips. “Of course it does,” he said softly. “And it’s...it isn’t like I’m not aware of what I’m doin’. I talked about it with my therapist, even.”

Steve beamed at Bucky so brightly that Clint feared he might develop a cavity if he kept watching. He looked away and briefly wished that he could turn his aides off and ignore the awkward parts of this conversation completely.

“What did your therapist suggest?” Vision asked. 

Bucky didn’t respond at first, and Clint found himself mildly offended on behalf of the guy. Shit, Barnes didn’t have to tell all of them what went down in his sessions. Clint remembered how hard it had been to open up to his own Shield therapist post-Loki, and how he probably would have snapped at everyone by this point had he been Barnes.

Like a trooper though, Bucky answered the question. 

“She thought I should try to get one of ya to help me out. Like, help me retrain my brain, my associations with touch. Last 70 years, touch never meant anything good, always meant something real fuckin’ bad, and she said that part of PTSD is that my brain keeps making those associations even though I’m completely okay and safe here, with you guys.” Bucky’s face was furrowed in concentration, like he was trying to answer a test question.

“So, she wants you to choose a snuggle buddy?” Spider-Man asked innocently from where he was leaning backward in his chair. “That’s kind of awesome. Snuggling is awesome.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he looked fondly at the only suited up member at the table. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. She wants me to decide what kind of touch I’m comfortable with and work up to more...I don’t know, intimate things?”

“Whoa! Didn’t realize it would be that kind of party. What kind of therapist is this?” Tony quipped, and Clint hid his own grin, because his mind had wandered much to the same place even though he knew that wasn’t what Barnes meant.

Bucky’s face lost the fond look, replaced with annoyance. “Don’t be a dick, Stark. I think she meant like hugs, embraces, things like that. Things like...things like you guys do, with each other. Pattin’ one another’s backs, hugging it out after a mission, dancin’ with one another. Ya know, Bruce likes massages, Stevie likes shoulder rubs and Thor likes his hair braided. I think I’d like to, ya know…” Bucky faltered.

“I think your therapist has a good idea forming, Buck. Getting you some in vivo exposure on your own terms, making your own choices. How do you feel about doing that?” Sam pressed forward.

Bucky frowned. “It’d be okay, I guess. It’s just a lot of pressure, thinkin’ about asking someone to do that, for me. I mean, how do I do that?”

Silence fell over the table for a few beats, thick and dense. Wanda was the one to break it, her voice small and unsure.

“Well, I know for myself that I would not be comfortable doing that. I’m not quite trusting myself yet, so I think I might be bad, for this. Maybe start by asking who wouldn’t be comfortable, like myself?” She sounded so unsure and guilty about her admission that Clint made sure to stare at her until she met his gaze, after which he smiled and shot her a double thumbs up. Her shoulders seemed to relax a bit after that. 

Wanda pushed her chair back from the table, effectively making Bucky’s pool of choice smaller. Tasha did the same not a moment later; Bucky nodded at her in understanding. Thor was next to take himself out of the running, citing the amount of time that he was preparing to spend off world as a possible hindrance to Bucky’s needs.

Spider-Man was next. “Just, secret identity and all. It would probably make sense if you could actually see your snuggle buddy.” Bucky smiled at him in agreement. 

Rhodes wheeled his wheelchair back away from the table as well. “Gotta heal up, myself,” he stated, motioning to his legs. “I would ask you to wait for me, but that seems overdramatic.” Bucky actually laughed at that, and Clint smiled in spite of himself. 

This left Steve, Tony, Vision, Bruce, Sam and Clint remaining at the table, and Clint tried to muffle down his own internal battle. Fuck, he wasn’t all that great with ‘intimate’ contact either, unless it dealt with sparring or pushing someone over if they were beating him at Mario Kart. He had his own slew of trust issues to deal with himself, and hard as he tried he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to pull Barnes into a hug or slug him on the shoulder in jest. 

Well, fuck it. What did he have to lose, besides giving the guy the moral support that he was willing to be there for him? It wasn’t like Bucky was going to choose anyone but Steve.

“Wow, uh, okay. Thanks? Thank you guys, for bein’ willing to do this for me, even though I didn’t much appreciate bein’ but on the spot, Rogers.” Bucky glared again at Steve, the heat obviously gone from his eyes. Clint snorted; he lived for moments where Captain America was the one getting the talkin’ to. 

“I want, I mean, ‘s long as he’s okay with it, I think I’d want…” Bucky had a few false starts, before squaring his shoulders and focusing his stare at the center of the table before taking a deep breath.

“I want it to be Barton,” Bucky said, and Clint let loose a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, because of course Barnes would choose…

…Barton? As in Clint? As in himself?

Aw, what.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so excited from all of the awesome feedback and kudos from you guys that I spent every spare moment today working on chapter two. Tadaa!

“So how exactly do we get the ball rolling, here?” Clint asked, plopping down with his coffee across the table from Bucky. It was a few days after their intervention; Clint had figured that they both probably needed some time to get their heads on straight. For reasons unbeknownst to himself, Clint had readily agreed after Barnes had chosen him for this exercise in human contact. So what if it had taken Clint a few moments to pick his surprised jaw up from off of the floor, after the initial shock he had nodded his head, shot off a “sure, bud, just let me know how you wanna do this thing, I have to…” and promptly fled the room.

Okay, so that had probably looked bad. But it felt like a huge responsibility, being taken to task in order to help the former Winter Soldier become comfortable with the concept of good touch. Not only that, but Clint was confused as all hell as to why Barnes thought he would be the best go to for the job. Were they friendly? Yes. When the two of them were in a room together it was all but guaranteed that bad jokes and empty insults would be flying within seconds. Were they compatible teammates? Hell yeah they were. Clint knew that Barnes would always have his back, just like he would do the same in return. Besides, it was kind of fun having another sniper on the team. Added a bit of competition. 

On that particular day, however, Bucky was looking anything but competitive. Slouching in his chair and picking at his half eaten bowl of cereal, Bucky’s hair curtained his face and made him look so, so small. Vulnerable, Clint guessed, and that just wouldn’t do.

“Hey, Barnes. No pressure here, alright? I know we all probably came on a little strong, but when Tony and Steve put their heads together that’s usually the result. We just want you to feel like you belong here, like you’re safe.” Clint tried to keep his voice steady and light when, damn, now both of them were feeling vulnerable. Because Clint was invested in this, he realized. He liked Barnes, and he really did want him to feel like part of their dysfunctional family. 

Bucky snorted. “Ya know, I really wish Stark and Stevie would hurry up and put some other parts of themselves together already. It’d be nice to not hafta choke on all that tension.”

A bark of laughter was startled out of Clint. “Glad I wasn’t the only one who noticed. It’s kinda sweet, a geriatric old man such as yourself wanting your best bro to get gay-laid. You continue to shatter all kinds of 40’s stereotypes, Barnes.”

Bucky smiled at that, something small, but it was a start. “C’mon now. Not all of us from back then were assholes. I’m glad to see that things like that are okay now. It’s nice.”

Clint grinned, but it faltered after a moment. No, nerves, not now. 

“You know I’m bi, right?” Clint asked as he feigned nonchalance by stirring his coffee, which contained no sugar, cream, or anything else requiring stirring. 

Bucky nodded slowly. “Yeah? You’re not exactly quiet about it, Barton. About anything, really.” 

Clint took the comment as a compliment. “You got that right. Full disclosure is all. Just wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t, you know, make you change your mind about this whole thing.”

Bucky met Clint’s eyes then, and stared. Clint wiggled a bit in his seat but didn’t break the contact until Bucky turned back to his breakfast, the smile on his face a bit bigger now. “It’s not like I think it’s catching, Barton. ‘Sides, even if it were, I suppose I probably already caught a little bit of it way back when.”

Clint choked on nothing at the statement and dammit if Bucky didn’t full out grin at that. 

“So, the Winter Soldier’s queer, huh? That...that’s kind of badass, actually,” Clint mused, looking at Barnes and wondering if Steve knew. If Steve and Bucky had ever...back then. He filed the question away for later when Bucky started talking. 

“If we’re gonna be gettin’ all friendly with each other, could we use our names? I’d rather you call me Bucky, if you’re okay with that.” 

Clint felt a niggling in his chest at that, something a bit warm. He took a big gulp of his coffee to try to burn it away. 

“Sure,” Clint said, wiping his mouth with the back of a bandaged hand. “You can call me Clint Barton, Best Sniper of them All.”

Bucky groaned. “I change my mind. I want Vision instead.”

Clint shot Bar...Bucky his best smarmy look. “No, you don’t.”

Bucky’s eyes twinkled then, and man, were they blue. “No, no I don’t.”

 

They agreed to meet the next morning at the Starbucks down the street from the tower in order to really nail down the parameters and boundaries of the Touch Thing, which was what Clint had decided to call it, capital letters and all. When he showed up (a minute early!) Bucky was already hunched over a notebook at a table in the back corner, sipping a ridiculously huge frozen coffee concoction with a mound of whipped cream spilling over the top. Clint made sure to give him shit for it as soon as he sat down next to Bucky with his own black coffee.

“At this point I think you have to file that under the milkshake category instead of coffee.” Clint groused as a greeting. Bucky shifted away slightly, obvious surprise on his face at Clint’s choice to sit beside him instead of across from him.

“These are my favorite thing from this century, so you can shove it. Also, hi.” Bucky leaned back into his previous position rather than stay leaning away from Clint, and Clint considered that to be a good start. 

“Hi yourself. Whatcha doin?”

Bucky slid the notebook to the middle of the table between them, and Clint angled it so that he could read it better. Ah, Bucky had started a list. Quite the proactive soldier.

“So let’s see. Hugs, high fives, massages, shaking hands, pats on back, holding hands with a question mark after? Friendly touches etcetera, playing with hair, haircuts. These the things you want to get comfortable with?” Clint asked, reaching over the notebook for the pen. Bucky stilled but didn’t move away, and nodded.

“Wait, have you not had your haircut since your last defrost?” Clint asked, eyeing Bucky’s messy bun. 

“I can’t even let Stevie give me a hug without panicking. You really think I’m gonna let someone at my head with sharp objects?” Bucky huffed, and oh, right.

“You know, when you snark I can tell you’re a Brooklyn boy,” Clint said with a grin before scribbling out the question mark that Bucky had written after ‘holding hands’. “This is all fine if they’re fine with you. You can add to this list down the road if you want, you know. Spider-Kid mentioned snuggles, those are pretty awesome and I’ve been told I’m really good at it.”

The tips of Bucky’s ears turned red so quickly that Clint did a double take. Oh, shit, but that was adorable. 

“How about dancin’?” Bucky asked, voice low and shy. Clint laughed, stopping himself from clapping Bucky on the back. Huh. Clint had thought that it would be strange to touch Bucky, but it was starting to feel like it wouldn’t really take that much effort, after all.

“Sure. Throw that on your list, there. I’ve had some training in that area too.”

Bucky reached over and plucked the pen from Clint’s fingers, twisting awkwardly to add dancing to the bottom of the list. “I hadn’t exactly pegged you as a ballerina, but can’t say I’m surprised with the way you can move,” Bucky said, and Clint decided to feel real smug about the fact that Bucky was impressed with the way that he could move. Hey, he took compliments wherever he could get ‘em.

“Not ballet, but I learned some other moves from one of the performers way back when I was in the circus. Helped with balance, timing, strength building, and all that jazz.” Clint giggled at his own pun and Bucky looked pained.

“You bein’ a carny sure explains a lot, you know.”

Clint nodded once. “Yep, I know. Now, while I could talk about how awesome I am at moving and being graceful and all that all day, let’s keep looking at this list.” Bucky nodded and kept writing, crossing some things out before deciding to add them back.

“Okay, so, when I was seeing my own shrink she had me work on some things like this, what Sam called in vivo whatever. I made my own list of triggers, things that...got to me, after Loki got into my head and, well, you know. She had me rank order the list from least to most upsetting and we started small, with the little things. Think that concept would work about the same?” Clint talked as Bucky wrote, and by the time he was finished Bucky was looking at him with something like surprise on his face.

“Didn’t realize you went to therapy, too.” Bucky commented. Clint shrugged.

“You’re a better man than me, Barnes. Shit, Bucky, sorry. Yeah, Fury put in the order, wouldn’t let me back on active duty until I did six months. I stopped as soon as I was cleared, but that don’t mean it didn’t help some. You’re strong to keep going even when you don’t have too. Shit was hard.” Clint snapped his mouth shut at the admission, wondering how the hell he had gotten to the point of spilling his thoughts and feelings about therapy to Bucky, of all people.

“Oh, well, thanks. I like her, she’s nice. And yeah, I think doing the rank thing would be good, like you said.” Bucky kept looking at Clint as he spoke, almost like he hadn’t seen him before. Clint squirmed. 

“Alright, well, get to it then,” Clint said, and Bucky did.

Before they left the cafe, they had written down two separate but identical lists, one for each of them. Clint fingered it in his jeans pocket as they walked back to the tower, having already memorized it with ease:

1\. High Fives  
2\. Pats on back  
3\. Shaking hands  
4\. Friendly touches etcetera (Bucky couldn’t explain exactly what he meant by this, and promised to point examples out to Clint when he saw them happen with the others around the tower)  
5\. Playing with hair  
6\. Holding hands  
7\. Snuggling  
8\. Hugs  
9\. Massages  
10\. Haircuts  
11\. Dancing

Clint had cracked jokes about having an odd number of items on the list and had tried to write “banging” as number twelve, but Bucky kept crossing it out with a stupid grin on his face. Ah, well. Clint had tried.

He had really expected the whole ordeal to be awkward, and he still hadn’t figured out why Bucky had decided on him, but figured that Bucky would tell him if he wanted to. He was surprised about how at ease and open he had been with Bucky at the cafe, and he mentioned it when they were about to go their separate ways.

“So I’m not sure why this is happening exactly, but I’m pretty glad to be apart of it. Feeling helpful is pretty rad, so thanks, I guess.” Clint leaned against his closed apartment door where they had stopped naturally, Bucky’ apartment being further down the hall. 

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard that Clint was shocked they didn’t roll away and disappear. “Really? Rad? And I thought I was stuck back in time.”

Clint feigned offense. “Well shit, rude. Now you’ve gone and made it awkward. I was gonna offer you that high five, but I’m revoking it for the night,” Clint joked, crossing his arms to drive the point home. Something twinged in his chest when Bucky actually looked relieved.

“Oh, so you’re projecting big feelings from over there, man. I was just fucking with you, it’s not awkward, somehow, and you can totally have a high five if you want one but it doesn’t look like you particularly do?”

Bucky shuffled his feet but didn’t duck his head. “I, ah, not right now? This was good, but I think I might be maxed out for the day. I’m not the best at anticipating shit, ya know? And now there’s a whole list of shit for me to anticipate.”

Clint uncrossed his arms and held his hands up, palms out. “I get it. No surprises. Why don’t you take over, huh? No high fives offered from this end. Here’s my blanket consent for you to touch me, whenever you want. Unless I’m cooking because I already burn myself to a crisp and I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire of that. Sound good? You be in the driver’s seat, even though I know firsthand that you’re a terrible and reckless driver on a good day?”

Bucky’s smile had grown into something big and warm by the time that Clint was finished talking, and even when his response included the words “asshole” and “klutz,” Clint swore that they almost sounded fond. He fell asleep later that night wondering if he would prefer the feeling of Bucky’s flesh or metal hand, clasped around his own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was out of state on vacation. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warning for some PTSD symptoms/nightmares in this chapter.

The first time that they touched, it wasn’t a high five. In fact, the first time they touched, Bucky punched Clint in the eye socket. The left one, to be specific. At least that meant that the punch had come from Bucky’s right arm, so bless small favors, Clint figured. 

It was about a week after Clint and Bucky had created the list. Bucky had made himself somewhat scarce, but Clint wasn’t surprised. He remembered how long it had taken him to trust others and himself after Loki played around in his head; and besides, he could tell that Bucky was at least trying, a little. Bucky had taken to joining Clint in the range every other day. Though they didn’t exchange more than a few words, this was a new development and Clint was secretly pleased. Bucky had also worked into a group conversation that he had been working on eye contact with his therapist after Tony had inquired about Bucky’s ‘murder glare’ that had spiked in occurrence. 

Yes, Bucky was trying, and Clint? Well, he was trying really hard to keep his promise to Bucky and not offer him a high five every twelve seconds. They were both works in progress.

The first time that they touched, it was movie night at the tower. Really, it was the only night that they all got together; Sam would drive from his place, Spidey would swing in through an open window somewhere, and Rhodes would make it a point to appear if he wasn’t off doing something “more important” with the military. Please. As if there could be anything more important than watching two guys from the 40’s go into pop culture shock. 

This was one thing that Bucky had been willing to do only weeks after arriving at the tower with the rest of the rogues, once they had finished their stint in Wakanda. He had walked in during the middle of Jurassic Park, and when everyone had looked shocked at his appearance he had shrugged, sat down on the floor, and said “I like movies.” That had been the end of that, and Bucky had joined the team for every movie night since. 

On this particular movie night, Pretty Woman was playing on the wall-sized screen, and Bucky had fallen asleep. Clint noticed almost right away. Not that he was watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye all night, or anything. Nope.

Clint was just acknowledging the warm feeling in his chest that came with the realization that Bucky was comfortable enough around them to fall asleep, when Bucky started to twitch. It started small at first, a jump of movement in his shoulder, a creasing of his brow. After a few minutes, however, it became obvious that Bucky was having a nightmare. Sweat began to run from his hairline, his feet started to kick aimlessly, and the whimpers that were making their way from Bucky’s throat were enough to ruin all warm and fuzzy feelings in Clint’s body. 

“Jarvis, pause the movie,” Clint whispered, and when the film froze and the room fell silent, nobody was surprised. All of their attention was turned to Bucky, and the air was decidedly thick with awkward tension.

“Please, leave.”

The command came from Steve and it was more of a plea than anything. Without question, everyone stood and left with the exception of Clint and Tony, who hung back at the door.

“You alright, Rogers?” Tony asked, hesitating on the threshold. Clint watched as Steve tried to smile, and it was a painful looking little thing.

“Used to this part, Tony. But thank you.”

Tony nodded once and left the common room, leaving a tense Steve, an even tenser Clint, and, well, a tenser-er Bucky, whose thrashing was starting to border on being dangerous. 

“What, uh,” Clint started, clearing his throat. Steve looked over to him as though he were surprised he had hung back. “What do you usually do, to get him outta this?”

Steve continued to look at Clint as though assessing him and his worthiness to be there in such a vulnerable moment. For a second, Steven Grant Rogers looked all of his 90-something years old. Fuck if it wasn’t a heartbreaking thing for Clint to see. 

“I usually shake him until he wakes up. He’s not a huge fan of the idea and is usually pretty violent, but it’s all I can think of to do. Yelling doesn’t work.” Steve looked resigned and took a step towards Bucky.

“Wait!” Clint blurted, shooting to his feet. Steve paused. 

“Don’t touch him. I know you don’t want to because he doesn’t want you to, but let me just try something first?”

Steve didn’t even hesitate before nodding his assent. Huh. Clint could let the idea of Captain America trusting him with the well being of his best friend go to his head, but he would focus on that later. 

A minute later, Clint steadily came around the corner from the kitchen with a pitcher of water grasped firmly in both hands. Steve’s mouth nearly twitched into a smile at that, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me that your plan is to douse the former Winter Soldier with water? And you don’t see how that could backfire?”

Clint ignored the huge amount of sass in Steve’s voice. “Hey, so it’s warm water, thank you, and also neither of us have to touch him, so...cowabunga?”

With that sentiment, he leaned over Bucky as closely as he could, and dumped the pitcher of warm water onto his head in one fell swoop. 

Bucky squawked (really, there was no other word for it), bounded into a standing position faster than Clint could comprehend, and promptly punched Clint in the eye with his flesh hand. Stars of pain exploded in Clint’s skull and he crumpled in a fashion that he would feel embarrassed about later. 

Clint’s hands went to his face as he lay on his back listening to the chaos that was happening above him somewhere. Bucky’s confused statements, Steve trying to calm him down and check on Clint at the same time, and then the silence that blanketed over them when Bucky must have come fully to. Clint used that opportunity to express his feelings.

“So, ow.”

Steve snorted (the audacity!), and Bucky made a wounded sound from where he was kneeling above Clint. Bucky’s hands were fluttering all around, like he wanted to stop Clint’s bleeding but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Shit, Bart-Clint, I didn’t mean to! I...I got confused.” Bucky stammered. Clint blinked up at him with his right eye.

“Well, Buck, one could say that I had a bit to do with it. You were having a nightmare, seemed like a bad one.”

Bucky flushed, pink scattering across his cheekbones. It was a pretty sight. He looked like he was going to apologize, until a cloud of confusion took over his features.

“So you decided to drench me? Was that really necessary, do ya think?”

Clint grimaced and propped himself up on his elbows. “Well, I didn’t think it was really right to touch ya, ya know? And it also wasn’t fun to watch you bein tortured so...you’re up now, right?”

Bucky’s confusion melted away and he gaped at Clint with something surprised and...soft in his eyes. He looked at Clint like he was the first person who had ever done anything nice for him, and Clint’s heart clenched. 

Oh, hell.

Not a second later and the look was gone, replaced with an expression that Clint knew all too well; spine crushing guilt.

“You went outta your way to be thoughtful and caught a right hook for it,” Bucky mumbled. “”M sorry. Thanks, and I’m sorry.”

“Aw, Buck, don’t. Go back to lookin’ at me like I’m your chivalrous hero or some shit. No hard feelings, any of us would have done the same. Now, could you help a guy up?” 

Clint would later blame being socked in the skull for his idiocy in the moment, because after going through all the trouble to wake Bucky up without making contact, Clint extended his hand from where he sat on the floor, palm open towards Bucky for the other man to grab. 

Clint sat that way for a beat or two before realizing what he was doing and started to withdraw with a spluttered apology when suddenly there was a hand in his. A cold, metal hand wrapped strongly around his fingers and he was pulled to his feet. Clint stumbled a bit, taken off guard, and as soon as he was righted Bucky dropped his hand and shuffled nervously, looking anywhere but at Clint or Steve. 

“Thanks,” Clint said, voice cracking. Bucky met his eyes and smiled and oh, yep, Clint was definitely having some feelings about that.

“Think I deserve a high five for that?” Bucky asked, breaking whatever moment Clint was having in his own head. Pride and joy surged through Clint’s body, nearly taking the sting from his face. 

“Yeah, man, whatever you want.” Clint preened. Bucky rolled his eyes at Clint’s enthusiasm but raised his metal hand all the same. Clint readily slapped the hand with his open palm and grimaced at both the sensation and the sound. He suspected Bucky had an easier time breaking the ice with his metal hand, so to speak, so Clint let it go and instead basked in the glory of Bucky’s proud smirk.

Steve stood to the side, watching the exchange with a grin on his face, looking like the happy golden retriever that he secretly was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so sickly sweet and fluffy that it hurts me. 
> 
> I'm so incredibly not sorry.

A few days later, when Clint asked Bucky if he wanted to go on a walk to the park, Bucky jumped at the opportunity. Clint was a bit surprised, a lot pleased, and hopeful that this meant Bucky was going to stop being weird about the fact that Clint was still sporting a decent shiner where he’d been hit. Much to Clint’s satisfaction there was minimal awkwardness during their walk, and within half an hour they sat together on a bench beneath an orange-leafed tree, sipping coffee and throwing a frisbee for Lucky to lazily retrieve. 

Bucky talked for a little while about his therapy and how his therapist suggested that he might be hyperfocused on the relationship between Steve and Tony and the idea that they wanted to be more than friends.

“Well, it’s kinda hard to think anything different, what with their completely frustrating combination of obviousness and obliviousness,” Clint said, eyeing Bucky’s latest coffee concoction with abject horror. Damn super soldier serum; if Clint downed that much sugar all the time he would have to roll himself up to the rooftops. 

Bucky chuckled. “I know! Maybe she’s right, though. I do talk about it a lot. I dunno if it’s because I want Steve to be happy finally, or if I’m jealous.”

Clint tried hard not to choke. “Jealous? Of Tony? Or of Steve?” 

Bucky scoffed. “Please. Those two idiots can have each other. No. I think I might feel a little lonely?” A flash of vulnerability spread across Bucky’s face before he could stop it. “The shrink thinks I might subconsciously want to make up for lost time, for all of those years that I spent alone or, ya know, without healthy relationships?” He posed the statement like a question. Clint had to physically stop himself from throwing his arms around him. 

“That makes sense. Nothing wrong with wanting to be less lonely. The life of an assassin doesn’t lend itself the opportunities to make a lot of friends, let alone the life that you had.” Clint flinched at the way that came out. It had sounded much better in his head. Bucky didn’t seem to take any offense, however. He simply sighed and pulled out the folded piece of notebook paper and a pen from his pocket.

Clint would have laughed at how bad the two of them were at segues, but he was too glad that Bucky was pulling out the list to do so. Clint was pretty invested in the subject of getting to touch Bucky. Or getting touched by Bucky. Either or, really. Clint pulled out his own matching list in tandem.

“Do you think helpin’ you up counted as a handshake?” Bucky asked, eyeing his list pathetically, pen hovering above the paper that was rested on his knee. Clint gave him a dirty look.

“If I’m gonna help you do this, then I’m making sure you’re doing it right. No wiggling out. You know damn well that wasn’t a handshake.” At the crestfallen look on Bucky’s face, Clint groaned. “But, ah, I guess it could count as one of those friendly gestures you still haven’t specified?” Dammit.

Bucky shook his head. “No, that’s not...you know how when Bruce says somethin’ real smart, Tony will, like, grab his shoulders and shake him a little cuz he’s so excited? Or when Nat beats you at your video game, you shove her over? That’s things like that. Things that happen in the moment, between people who are...friendly. Helpin’ you up was just common courtesy.” With that, Bucky folded up his list with a single line crossed off and shoved it into his pocket. 

“Alright, I think I got it now. Your call, dude.” Clint took the pen from Bucky, crossed off “high fives” on his own list and slipped the paper into his wallet. “So, shoulder pats come next then. You can feel free to practice on me anytime, remember?”

Bucky nodded absently before leaning down and patting Lucky on the back. Lucky soaked it up, arching into Bucky’s touch, and Clint shoved down the bristling feeling of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. Jealous. Of his own dog. 

“Why haven’t you been around much, pizza mutt?” Bucky murmured, scratching behind Lucky’s ears with both hands. The envy flared inside of Clint, who cleared his throat.

“Kate and America have been hogging him lately at the apartment. Lucky still gets nervous at the tower, and besides, I don’t think Tony is the biggest fan of anything with more than two legs.”

Bucky shrugged, a motion that clearly screamed ‘who cares?’ and Clint knew he liked him for reasons that weren’t purely aesthetic and/or assassination driven. How could Clint not like a dude who was obviously in love with his dog? His dog, who was now enthusiastically licking Bucky’s hand. 

“You sure you don’t wanna just go down your list with Lucky there? You seem comfortable enough, and he might be an even better snuggler than me. I still got him beat at dancin’ though,” Clint joked, raising his cup of coffee to his lips and trying to turn his back against the wind. 

Bucky grinned at that, a full, toothy smile, and Clint’s stomach swarmed with butterflies. Okay. This was getting ridiculous. Just because James Barnes was possibly the most charming creature on the face of the earth, with those eyes and those lips and that hair and those arms and…

Clint lost his train of thought and kept staring at Bucky’s face like a man obsessed. Which Bucky obviously noticed, as he quickly tried to tamper down his smile. Clint opened his mouth to tell him that no, he should always be smiling, but luckily Bucky beat him to it, effectively stopping him from saying something ridiculous. 

“I like Lucky ‘n all, but I’m happy with my choice. No deal.” Bucky’s voice had gone soft, and Clint felt like he needed to leave a positive Google review for Bucky’s therapist because there was so much eye contact happening that Clint could hardly breathe. Clint panicked and did what he did best; deflected with self deprecation!

“Not that I’m not pleased as punch to be here, but it was a weird fuckin’ choice if you ask me, given your options.” Clint looked away, took a drink of his cooling coffee.

“Don’t do that,” Bucky said, frowning now, and oh, no. “I had my reasons.”

Not knowing what to say, Clint nodded and silence fell around them. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it should have been, and Clint spent the time trying to formulate a half-assed apology. His thoughts were interrupted by a shout coming from their left. 

“Hawkeye! Mr. Hawkeye!” 

Clint and Bucky both turned abruptly towards the sound, which came from a small, bright red blur that was hurtling towards them on tiny little legs. The girl, no older than 4 or 5 by Clint’s estimation, ran with fervor, her face split into a huge grin. Two women trailed behind her, arms linked, nearly keeping with the girl’s pace though they were walking at a normal speed. When the girl reached the bench she stopped so suddenly that she stumbled a little bit, knocking her hat off of her head. 

“It is you! Mommy, Mama, I told you! It’s really Hawkeye!” The girl yelled, and Clint simply sat, stunned. It was the longest running joke of the team, that Clint never had to leave in disguise because he was the Avenger with the least fanfare and was usually perched high enough above the action to avoid most cameras. He called it a joke, in his head, though truth be told it did sting a little. On occasion. Or always, whatever. 

“You were right, little bean!” One of the women said once close enough. She smiled at Clint and Bucky, and Clint remembered that it was probably polite to smile back. “Sorry about this, sir, for interrupting, but our little Sophie here just absolutely adores you.”

“Really?” Clint blurted, turning his smile to Sophie, who was bouncing on her heels. He heard Bucky chuckle beside him. 

Sophie’s other Mother nodded. “She has a Hawkeye bed set, and lamp, and her own little Nerf archery set. This is all we’re going to hear about for the next few months, guaranteed.”

Clint felt warmth take over him, and he stuck out his hand. “Well, truth be told, meeting my biggest fan is probably all I’m going to be talking about for the next while, too! It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Sophie.” The little girl’s eyes grew wide and she thrust her tiny hand into Clint’s, shaking up and down with abandon. 

“Do you have your arrows? Are you here to fight bad guys? You’re big in real life. Ooh, is this your dog? Can I pet her?” 

Clint laughed and nodded. “No arrows or bad guys, and Lucky is my dog. Sure, you can pet him, if it’s alright with your Mommas.” With nods from both women Sophie turned and wrapped her arms around Lucky, who stood straighter and turned on his charm at the attention. 

“And just like that, you’re no longer her favorite,” Bucky joked, causing Clint and Sophie’s Mothers to laugh. Evidently, Bucky speaking also caught Sophie’s attention, as she looked up at him for the first time. Her small mouth dropped into a small ‘o’ before she let out a squeal. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up at the sound and he looked decidedly uncertain. 

“Mommy! Mama! Do you see?! It’s Bucky too! Mr. Hawkeye and Bucky, wow!” 

The look of absolute shock on Bucky’s face was going to be burned into Clint’s memory for as long as he lived. It was a moment that he would look back on frequently when he was having a futzed up day, in order to make life seem a little less shitty. 

Clint leaned towards Bucky. “Looks like you’ve got a fan, Buck. Say hello.”

Bucky blinked out of his stupor, and smiled widely at Sophie. “Why hello, Sophie. You must really like the Avengers to know me already, huh?”

Sophie nodded up and down, her curls springing with the action. “You’re new but you’re my favorite too! Are you wearing your robot arm? Is it under your glove? Can I see?”

The woman that Clint had pegged as Mommy stepped forward and put her hands on Sophie’s shoulders. “Sophie, honey, it’s not appropriate to ask someone to show you parts of their body.”

Sophie looked upset, but shook it off quickly. “Sorry, Mr. Bucky! Can I have a handshake then?” 

Clint and Bucky both froze. Sophie held out her right hand and it hung in the air for a moment. Bucky stared at it, swallowed, and smiled. 

“Sure, but how about with this hand?”

Clint watched as Bucky slipped the glove off of his left hand, the metal glinting in the sun. He extended it towards Sophie, who giggled, switched hands, and gently shook Bucky’s metal hand. 

“So cool!” She shrieked, and holy shit if Clint’s heart didn’t explode it would be a miracle. 

After her Moms snapped a picture of the three of them, Sophie skipped away towards the duck pond, leaving Clint and Bucky alone with a sleeping Lucky at their feet. Clint didn’t want to break the moment, so he simply watched as Bucky withdrew his list, uncapped his pen, and crossed off “shaking hands." 

The pride was overflowing from Clint’s body and he literally had to do something about it. “Buck,” he said, getting Bucky’s attention before nodding down at the list. “Can I...?”

Bucky caught on and nodded, teeth worrying his bottom lip. Clint moved slowly, raising his hand, and he heard Bucky draw in a sharp breath before nodding once more. Clint patted Bucky lightly on his right shoulder, the warmth of Bucky’s skin welcoming beneath Clint’s fingers, even though his shirt and hoodie. 

“Atta boy, Buck,” Clint said, withdrawing his hand. Bucky snorted, making another line through his list.

“Don’t talk to me like a dog, Clint. I’m not Lucky,” Bucky paused for a moment, before adding “or Stevie.” 

Clint laughed the entire way home.


	5. Chapter 5

“Budge over, I wanna try.” 

Clint felt a wriggle of surprise when to he looked up from where he was sitting on the floor to see that it was Bucky who was trying to make Sam move. From the look on Sam’s face, eyebrows raised, he was equally as surprised.

“Man, always telling me to move. It’s getting old, Barnes,” Sam sighed, but acquiesced without argument. Sam handed over the controller, which Bucky took tentatively before plopping on the floor next to Clint (a bit closer than where Sam had been sitting, Clint couldn’t help but notice). 

“You need a walkthrough on how to play?” Clint asked.

Bucky shook his head. “I think I’ve watched you guys enough. It can’t be too hard.”

Clint grinned wickedly and focused back on the screen. “Alright, tough guy. We’ll hit the ground running. How’s Rainbow Road sound?”

Bucky smirked. “Sounds pretty inviting for a pair of queer marksmen.”

The statement surprised a giggle out of Clint, and an “Oh my god, that was terrible” out of Sam. Bucky looked decidedly pleased with himself and he readjusted, sitting criss-cross applesauce. His knee rested lightly against Clint’s thigh, and Clint had never felt so giddy. He spared a glance across his shoulder at Sam, who also noticed the contact and whose face had melted into something ooey and gooey. 

“Hurry up and choose your character, jackass. ‘M waiting on you.” Bucky said, nudging Clint purposefully with his knee. Clint took a breath and refocused on his task of brutally whipping Bucky’s ass at Mario Kart. 

 

Two hours later, Clint was sweating, hands aching, and Bucky was yelling obscenities at the television. Steve, Nat and Wanda had joined Sam on the couch and were screaming right along with Bucky, Nat and Sam cheering on Clint, Steve and Wanda hollering for Bucky.

“Son of a cocksucking, motherfucking, godforsaken whore!” Bucky shouted as Clint spun him out, crossing the finish line a second later. Clint dropped the controller, fell backward on the floor, fists pumping in the air. Laughter spilled out of him as Steve made a strangled sound at Bucky’s language, drowned out by Bucky’s miserable groan. 

“One more, Hawkeye! Try me one more time and I’ll show you…” Bucky started, but Clint shook his head from where he lay on the floor, knocking one of his hearing aids loose. 

“Nope! That was it! That was the last tiebreaker. Face it, old man, I am superior in all things Mario Kart.” Clint sat up grinning, reaching around to fetch his aid. He looked around, confused at finding the floor empty. 

“I got it,” Bucky said, and sure enough Bucky held the bright purple Stark aid in his hands, looking it over carefully. “This seems pretty high tech. You’ll have to explain to me how it works one of these days.”

Clint shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Stark. He designed them especially for lil old me so that I could use them to comm in during missions.”

Bucky turned it over in his hands a few times, before meeting Clint’s eyes, a blush creeping up his throat. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s probably rude to ask about...”

Clint shook his head. “Nah. My hearing has been messed up a couple times, but it turns out that you can’t really go back to the start once someone gets stabby with your eardrums. It is what it is.” Clint shrugged.

A glint of anger sparked in Bucky’s eyes, and what did it say about Clint that that reaction made him feel warm from his head to his toes? Clint held out his hand for his aid, and Bucky hesitated.

“Can I?”

The question startled Clint, struck him quiet for a second. Plenty of people had put in his aids for him, including Stark and a few dozen doctors probably, but nobody had ever asked so casually. He figured that there wouldn’t be anything wrong with fulfilling Bucky’s curiosity, figured it was a good thing that Bucky was comfortable asking, and so Clint nodded.

“Why not? Go for it.”

Which turned out to be a major mistake, because right, this would involve very close proximity and touching. Guh, when had the tables turned so that Clint felt like he needed time to mentally prepare himself to be touched by Bucky? Probably once this stupid-yet-massive crush started to develop, and hell, get it together Barton.

Bucky scooched in close, getting onto his knees and leaning over. Gingerly, he used his left hand to cradle the back of Clint’s head as he slotted the earmold into Clint’s ear with his right. Bucky’s fingertips brushed over the cartilage of Clint’s ear as he tucked the ear hook around the curve. The whisper of touch set Clint’s blood on fire, and he wondered if Bucky could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Bucky gently squeezed the back of Clint’s neck with his metal hand but didn’t move it away, and when Clint looked up Bucky was smiling.

“Anyone else feel like we’re all voyeurs right now?” Natasha’s voice snapped them to, Bucky’s hand immediately dropping from Clint’s neck and aw, now everything felt all cold. 

“I have to go,” Clint blurted, rocketing to his feet. Nobody called for him to stop, but as he reached the door he could hear Steve start to praise Bucky.

“You’re doing real good, Buck. That was…”

“God, SHUT UP, Steve, Jesus…”

Clint reached up and turned off both of his aids, followed by thick silence as he made his way to his apartment. 

 

Clint wouldn’t have known that anybody was knocking on the door if it weren’t for Lucky. He had disabled the light activation that Tony had built into the door frame, which usually flashed to alert him that someone was on the other side in case he had his aids out or off. He told JARVIS to leave him be unless there was an emergency and decided that in his emotionally fragile state what he needed was a nap. Within minutes of crashing face first onto the couch, Lucky nuzzled his way in between his back and the back of the couch. It took awhile, but eventually Clint felt warm again and drifted to sleep. 

What felt like moments later, Lucky was scrambling like a mutt possessed to get out from behind Clint in order to run to the door. Clint groaned and blinked open one eye, and groaned louder when he realized that it was early evening if the dark sky outside was any indication. Ears sore from falling asleep in his aids and one jean leg pushed up to his knee, Clint dragged himself off of the couch over to the door. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find Bucky on the other side, but lo and behold, his traitorous heart lurched in his chest at the sight of him, long hair pulled into a ponytail, feet bare though nearly hidden where his sweats pooled at the ankles. It was cute, if not amusing, to see such a large dude manage to find pants long enough to do any kind of pooling. 

It took a minute for Clint to realize that Bucky had been talking to him, due to the distraction of the sweatpants situation. 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Clint exclaimed, probably far too loudly. He reached up and flicked on his aids. “What?”

Bucky rolled his eyes with no real sense of exasperation. “Geeze, if me handlin’ your hearing aids was traumatic enough to turn em off for like 8 hours, you should have just told me to fuck off.”

Clint sucked in a breath. “It’s not...it wasn’t...do we really have to do the thing where we talk about the awkward moment, or…?”

Bucky did not look amused, and so Clint stepped aside, motioning Bucky into the apartment. 

“If we’re going to get all messy with feelings, I’m not doing it in the hallway,” Clint said, and to his relief, Bucky laughed. Good. Clint could handle laughter.

Once inside, Bucky followed Clint’s lead, sitting with a cushion between them on the couch. “Is that what we’re doing? Talking about ‘feelings’?” Bucky asked.

Clint wet his lips with his tongue. “So, you putting my aids in wasn’t traumatic, I don’t know why I got all weird, and the only thing I feel right now is like I don’t know what year it is because I’m in a post-nap haze.” He shrugged. “Your turn.”

Bucky was biting back a smile, physically biting his lower lip with his upper teeth, and Clint nearly blurted out a few other feelings that had been plaguing him lately, but managed to hold his composure.

“Thanks, for letting me do it. It didn’t feel…” Bucky thought for a moment, tracking the air as though the word would materialize, “scary. I felt like I was useful, even though I know you’re fully capable of putting them in, obviously.” Bucky’s eyebrows creased. “Shit, I feel like I’m screwing this up somehow.”

Clint sighed. “I think we’re both emotionally constipated idiots who might be a little out of our depth and are getting all awkward and angsty because a bunch of assholes were watching us bro out. That’s what I think.”

Bucky did smile, at that. “They really are assholes.”

Clint shot off a salute. “Amen.”

They sat in silence for a few passing moments, Bucky staring into space, Clint staring at Bucky as the soldier opened his mouth with a few false starts.

“I feel safe with you.”

The words that did eventually escape Bucky’s mouth sounded foreign to Clint. They were the last words that he expected. 

“Oh?” Clint responded. How elegant.

Bucky nodded. “It might be shitty of me, but I know that you know what it’s like to not be in control. And you seem like a decent person, so I figured that you wouldn’t try to, you know. Take control, or advantage or whatever. Turns out I was right. You’ve been downright chivalrous to the point where I think you’ve got a consent kink.”

“Hey, consent is sexy,” Clint responded immediately, and then winced. “Sorry, autopilot.”

Bucky scooched a little closer, close enough to nudge Clint with his elbow. “See? Told ya I knew what I was doing when I picked you to help me out. My therapist thinks it was a good choice, too.”

Clint blanched. “You talk about me to your therapist? I don’t know if I should feel horrified or honored.”

“You’re a mess, Clint. I doubt I’m the only one bringing you up in therapy.”

Clint tried to look offended but grinned instead. “I feel famous.”

“You are famous, dumbass.”

Clint snorted out a “shut up” and reached over to thump Bucky on the knee, stopping his hand a few inches away, catching himself. Something suddenly clicked in his brain.

“Oh...oh! This is what you mean. The nudging and the kneeing and the thing that I was about to do. The friendly gestures. I got it. Hey, you’re doing pretty good with that, Buck.”

Bucky nodded once, but he looked lost in though, far away.

“You okay over there?” Clint asked. It had been a while since Bucky had mentally shut down, and he hoped to hell that that wasn’t what this was.

“I think,” Bucky said slowly, and thank Christ for that, “I think it’d be okay for you to touch me, now.”

Clint stared at Bucky dumbly. “Like, right now? Pat your knee like I was gonna?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, sure. And, uh, I think other stuff would be okay, too. I know you said that I would be in control and lead and all that, but I think I’m ready for you to not hafta ask me every single time. It doesn’t usually work like that in the world, you know?”

Clint took his time to process Bucky’s words. “Yeah, I know. So, to make sure I’m understanding you right…”

“Jesus Clint, you’re ridiculous. Touch me whenever you want to, is what I’m saying. You have my consent.”

And, well okay, maybe Clint really did have a consent kink, because those words out of Bucky’s lips sent a thrill up and down his spine and dried the inside of his mouth in an instant. 

“Okay. You too. I mean, you can touch me, whenever. Which I think I’ve said already, but you know, just to confirm, put it out there, make sure…” Clint babbled. He stopped when he noticed Bucky’s grin grow into something feral.

“I did it. I broke you,” Bucky said, and Clint really took offense at how gleeful he sounded. Clint backhanded Bucky’s shoulder in a playful slap. 

“Did not. And if you tell anyone otherwise, I’ll deny it until I die.”

Bucky simply rolled his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno where all of these feels came from, but man, here they are. 
> 
> Also, the fans of this ship are the absolute best. You guys leave the best comments and really know how to brighten my day. Thanks folks! I hope you enjoy :)

“If things are going well with Clint, what are the things that are causing you to worry?”

Bucky stared off into space, thinking about the question. It had taken him months to realize that he didn’t need to fill the silence immediately when in therapy, that he had the option to think about what he wanted to say first. His therapist, ever patient, had also learned the difference between Bucky’s thinking face and his dissociation face, and so she simply waited, her question hanging in the air comfortably. 

“I’m worried that I’m taking advantage of him, I think,” Bucky said slowly, ending with a nod. 

“How so?”

Bucky smoothed back his hair, tucking it behind his ears and shifting back further into his chair. “Clint is a good guy. I mean, just a really good fella, all goofy and self-sacrificing. I don’t know that he woulda said no to me even if he wanted to, because he wants to help all the time. Don’t get me wrong, he’s also a bit of an asshole and doesn’t always have the best common sense, but he’d break his back for just about anyone. I’m just afraid that we’re...gettin’ different things outta this, is all.”

His therapist, Caroline, leaned back in her own chair, her wavy blue hair shifting on her shoulders. Bucky had found her aesthetic distracting at first, the shock of her hair and the small silver hoop in her nose, but had grown used to appreciating her uniqueness, her ability to be herself and be so comfortable looking a little different than the other SHIELD sanctioned therapists that Bucky saw walking around the office. He wondered absently if Clint would like her, if she could help him like she had helped Bucky.

“It sounds like you’re afraid that he’s not welcome to your touch, or to touching you. Like you’ve coerced him because of his willingness to help.”

Bucky nodded, and felt horrified to realize that there was a painful lump in the back of his throat. He cleared it away to respond. “Right. I know you know about what happened with him and Loki, everyone in SHIELD does, and I don’t want to think that I’m makin’ him do somethin’ that he doesn’t want to do. I don’t want him to think of me like…” Bucky faltered.

“Like you think of Hydra?”

Ah. There it was, the burning sting of tears flooding his eyes. Bucky nodded. That was the truth of the matter, deep down, wasn’t it?

Caroline allowed him a few minutes of silence to use as he wished, and after a short time Bucky nodded at her, ready to continue.

“What cognitive coping skill do you think would be appropriate to use for this situation?” Caroline asked lightly. Bucky shrugged, starting to feel drained. She pressed further. “How can we challenge your assumption that Clint is feeling coerced by you?

Bucky exhaled. “Look for evidence?”

Caroline smiled at him. “Very good, Bucky. So let’s try it. Where is the evidence that Clint is feeling coerced into unwanted touch with you?”

Bucky took a deep breath and thought. He thought about moments where Clint had been hesitant to touch him, but then recalled that it was only to ask permission. He thought about Clint leaning into Bucky’s own touches, the pressing of his knee or more frequent pats on the back or shoulder that had been occurring over the last few weeks. He thought of the glint in Clint’s eyes when Bucky accepted small touches of his own, the smile on his face and statements of pride regarding Bucky’s progress though nothing had been crossed off of their lists over the last few weeks. 

“I” Bucky started. He shook his head. “I can’t think of any evidence.”

Caroline nodded. “What have you found evidence of, then?”

Bucky felt himself feeling lighter, a weight lifting from his shoulders. “That maybe he might like it? Welcome it?”

“Like and welcome it, or like and welcome you?”

Warmth spread through Bucky’s body from his chest outward, into his arm, legs, and feet. When he met Caroline’s eyes, he smiled. His smile grew into something large instead of tentative when she smiled back. 

*

Clint (3:28 pm): Hey-o. Pizza and movies tonight?

Bucky stopped at a crosswalk on his walk back to the tower from his session and looked down at his phone in confusion. He went as far as pulling up his calendar to double check the day, even though he knew movie night never fell on therapy day. Proven to be correct about still knowing his weekdays, Bucky shot a quick text back.

Bucky (3:30 pm): It’s not movie night though?

He didn’t receive a response until he was in the elevator heading up to his apartment, a good 10 minutes later. 

Clint (3:41 pm): It’s not family movie night, no. I was thinking of maybe just inviting you? My apartment? No pressure, just figured I’d see if you wanted to hang out.

Clint (3:41 pm): I get if you’re busy. 

Clint (3:41 pm): Or just don’t want to.

Bucky couldn’t help but facepalm, hitting himself square in the nose a little harder than intended with his prosthetic. Clint was ridiculous, but Bucky couldn’t bother to feel annoyed, not after his therapy session that afternoon. 

Bucky (3:42 pm): Sounds good. What time?

Bucky walked into his apartment, shed his hoodie and poured a glass of water. He gulped it down quickly, hoping it would help with how hard his heart had started beating for some reason. He didn’t feel like he was having a panic attack, or particularly worried about anything, but his heart rate had sped up and was beating with a renewed force. 

Clint (3:50 pm): I have to do some shit, 8 too late?

Bucky snorted into his empty apartment. 

Bucky (3:51 pm): Too late? Like either of us sleep like normal people anyhow?

Clint (3:52 pm): Point. See you at 8, soldier.

Bucky pocketed his phone, his heart racing even quicker now. Huh. Maybe a run or a workout would help calm him.

*

Not even a three hour workout would calm him, apparently. 

It was past seven o’clock, and Bucky’s skin was tingling. He had run the indoor track for miles, lifted free weights for an hour, and helped Spider-Man practice out his new webslingers by being a moving target for another hour still. That last task may have been a mistake, as now Bucky had an hour until he had to be to Clint’s and he had webbing embedded in his hair. The shit was sticky as fuck, and left Bucky grumbling about the Spiderling as he stood in front of his closet, thinking about what to wear following the now-necessary shower that he would have to take. 

As he stood there, the feeling of nervousness began to intensify. It was starting to piss him off; what did he have to be nervous about? Nothing bad had happened in, well, a long time, and he didn’t expect anything bad to happen anytime soon. The feeling itself wasn’t even bad, he thought, rifling through hangers of shirts that all looked the same. It was more...anticipatory? Anticipatory, mixed with annoyance at the fact that he didn’t want to wear anything in his closet. And what the hell? Why did it matter? He was just going to hang out with Clint for the night. 

Bucky grabbed a nice pair of clean jeans and one of his softer t-shirts, dark forest green and the kind of cotton that felt like it was barely resting against his skin. He reached his hand out to choose a hoodie, added it to the pile of clothes on his bed, and proceeded to take the hottest shower of his damn life.

He was going to kill the kid. The webbing took a good 40 minutes of repeated scrubbing to get it all, which left Bucky with about three minutes before he was supposed to be down the hall. Not that he had to worry about Clint getting pissy about punctuality; he wasn’t exactly the most on-time person on the planet. But it felt important to Bucky to be there on time all the same. So he threw on his clothes, pulling on his jeans and shirt in a hurry, quickly running his towel through his hair before grabbing a six pack of beer from the fridge and hustling out of his apartment. 

The ever growing feeling intensified as Bucky walked barefoot to Clint’s apartment, and he tried to swallow it down as he rapped on the door. There was a small crash and some cursing from inside, and how the hell had Clint even survived this far in life?

The door opened a few seconds later and there Clint stood, black jeans straining against his thighs and a dark burgundy henley seemingly painted on his upper body. His hair looked soft, his eyes bright, and he was wearing a pair of small black aids that Bucky had never seen before. Bucky took in the sight of him in a matter of two seconds, and his pulse spiked, beating double now, and oh.

_Oh._

*

Bucky stood on the other side of the door, looking very much like he was battling an onslaught of internal demons. At the same time, he looked incredible, wet hair hanging over his shoulders, water darkening his shirt over his collarbones. He shifted his weight back and forth on his bare feet, and Clint wondered if Bucky was actively trying to kill him. Rather than ask him outright, Clint blurted the second thing that came to his mind. 

 

“Hi. I’ve never seen you in a t-shirt before.”

Bucky went from looking tortured to looking perplexed in a split second. “Uh. That’s all I wear, Clint.”

Clint floundered. “Okay, so, right. But you’re always wearing a hoodie, or a sweater or your gear over it.”

Bucky flushed as he looked down at his own arms, bare below his mid-biceps. He seemed shocked. 

“...I forgot to put on my hoodie. I...I don’t know...I’m sorry.”

Clint’s stomach dropped. Great. Three seconds into his proposed one on one movie night and he had already said something to make Bucky feel ashamed. He put on his best smirk and defaulted to his factory setting. 

“Don’t be. I prefer this view, I’m not one to turn down a good gun show.”

There was a moment of silence in which Clint felt like dying before Bucky burst out in laughter, finally moving towards the open door. He thrust a six pack into Clint’s arms and stepped into the apartment. 

“Aw, beer,” Clint said happily, closing the door behind them. “Why do you have beer? You must like the taste because I know for a fact that it doesn’t do anything fun to you super soldiers.”

Bucky shrugged, moving towards the couch. Clint already had the television on, two large pizza boxes centered on the coffee table in the living room. “Sam drops by sometimes, Nat too. My Ma would have a stroke in her grave if I didn’t have anything to offer my guests. Or my hosts.”

Clint found himself smiling as he popped off the caps of two of the bottles, handing one to Bucky before fwumping himself on the three cushioned couch, leaving one empty between them. Bucky took a long draw from his bottle and Clint watched him grab a slice of pizza, feeling odd, as though he was in a dreamlike state. Bucky relaxed, dripping wet, comfortable in his living room, eating his food and ready to settle in for a few hours for some movie watching. He was bro-ing it out with the Winter Soldier, who he was maybe a little bit in love with, and he wasn’t quite sure how this had become his life. 

Not that he was complaining. 

After a few minutes of debate, Clint queued up Jaws and they proceeded to devour the first pizza within minutes. Clint looked over with the intention of asking Bucky to pass a napkin (because, well, human disaster), and he noticed that nearly half of Bucky’s shirt was wet at this point, his hair still resembling a wet mop. 

“Do you want a towel?” Clint asked, already standing up. Bucky looked surprised as his attention snapped away from the movie. He looked down at his shirt and blushed a little. 

“Oh. Yeah, that’d be smart. Sorry.”

Clint rolled his eyes and jumped over the back of the couch, heading towards his hallway closet. “No need to apologize,” he said, pulling out his biggest and fluffiest towel, “I know you were probably in a hurry, just tripping all over yourself to come stuff your face with yours truly.” Without thinking, Clint dipped into his bathroom and grabbed a brush from the sink.

Bucky glowered at him as he approached with the towel and brush, and Clint winked. He extended the towel halfway but paused, and withdrew his arm. An image had popped into his head, but it would be crazy to ask…

“Hey, you wanna sit on the floor for a minute? I could…” Clint held up the towel and brush, feeling his face grow hot. “I mean, it’s been a minute since we’ve crossed something off of our list.” 

To his amazement, Bucky didn’t really even seem to need time to consider before he set his beer on the table and nodded. Clint pushed back the coffee table and Bucky slid onto the carpet, wiggling over to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the middle couch cushion. Clint audibly heard himself swallow down his nerves before sliding onto the couch, legs spread apart while Bucky leaned back, positioning himself between them. Bucky’s broad shoulders rested against Clint’s knees, wet and warm, and when would Clint realize that he was a glutton for punishment?

Gently, Clint started to lower the towel down to cover Bucky’s hair. “I’m gonna dry this mess so that you stop soaking my apartment, and then I can brush it, if you want me to,” Clint said, his voice soft enough to nearly be drowned out by the television. Bucky simply nodded.

Clint draped the towel over Bucky’s head and pressed his hands against it, moving in small circles to dry off Bucky’s scalp. He moved downward and squeezed at the towel as he did so, the fabric becoming damp in his hands as it soaked up the water that had collected in the longest parts of Bucky’s locks. Bucky leaned his head back slightly, but stayed silent. 

Satisfied, Clint moved the towel away and set it aside. He held the brush in his hand for a moment, trying to think of something to say, maybe something about the movie, but the atmosphere felt relaxed and so he decided for once in his life to just shut the fuck up and roll with it. He tentatively took a section of Bucky’s hair in his hand, held it tightly near where he met Bucky’s head, and started brushing through the tangles slowly. 

The movie continued to play, yet the room felt quiet with both Clint and Bucky holding their breath. It took both no time at all and all of the time in the world for Clint to brush through all of Bucky’s hair. He kept one hand at the base of Bucky’s skull as he set aside the brush, unwilling to let go. Bucky was still, until his shoulders heaved upon a shaky exhale.

“You okay, Buck?” Clint asked, and he didn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah...yes. It feels good. My Ma used to do this, for me. My hair was shorter, didn’t pull as much, but ah...I like it. Thank you for this. I had forgotten until now.”

And the ember that lived inside of Clint’s chest burned as his eyes prickled.

“Does brushing count as playing?” Clint asked lightly, tugging a bit on Bucky’s hair, and the small gasp of breath that it elicited sent a wave of electricity through Clint’s body. 

He was in so much fucking trouble. 

Clint used both hands to lace his fingers into Bucky’s hair, tips brushing against Bucky’s skull. Bucky’s silky hair was easy to sift through so soon after being brushed, and Clint felt addicted to the sensation instantly. Bucky leaned his head back further, and Clint could see the top of his forehead now, a hint of eyebrows, and he didn’t think he could tolerate seeing the look in Bucky’s eyes and so he nudged Bucky’s head back up. He split Bucky’s hair into three parts and started twisting the parts between his fingers. 

“You braiding my hair, Barton?” Bucky asked, and Clint would have chided him for the last name thing had Bucky not sounded so fond.

“Sure am. You’ll be the prettiest Sergeant at the ball.” Clint smiled, humoring himself. Bucky chuckled.

“I’m already pretty, thank you,” Bucky chided back. 

“Yuh-huh, you are,” Clint muttered, barely over his breath, but Bucky froze beneath his hands anyway. Damn super soldier hearing. 

Bucky turned around slowly, the braid pulling out of Clint’s hands, and right! That was exactly why Clint hadn’t wanted to meet his eyes, because they made his stomach feel like it was being pulled out of his body. 

Bucky blinked slowly, Adam's apple bobbing with a hard swallow. When he spoke, his voice was dry. “Clint-”

And then the lights began to flicker, the overhead alarm blaring. They were being called for a mission, and they both let out a sigh.

“Saved by the bell,” Clint said, standing up and holding his hand out to Bucky. Bucky grasped his forearm and let himself be pulled up.

“Oh hey, Steve showed me that show,” Bucky said, heading towards the door. Clint laughed, tension gone, and followed Bucky out of the apartment, closing the door behind them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my other works, you know three things:
> 
> 1\. I cannot post a multi-fic chapter without angst. I just can't. I hate myself for it.  
> 2\. Clint is my favorite fictional character of all time and I can't stop hurting him. I hate myself for it.  
> 3\. I don't even ship Steve and Tony but I can't stop writing this ship into the background. I hate myself for it.
> 
> But I love you all! Enjoy this rando Saturday chapter.

“Where the hell did these bastards even come from?” Sam exclaimed. “Tic Tac, I feel like lookin’ right at you right about now.”

Clint drew his bow as he listened to them bicker in his ear. He let loose the arrow, smirking without thought as it embedded itself into the spine of one of the hundreds of dog-sized robotic insects that were scuttling around Central Park, being general menaces to society. Menaces that apparently spat acidic goo strong enough to melt through asphalt, they had quickly realized. 

“Nuh uh, no way Falcon!” Scott’s voice came through the comm. “These guys and I? Not buds.” Clint watched from his vantage point as Scott went from his typical, human guy sized self to invisible to the eye in a matter of not even a second. Damn, but that would always be impressive.

“I’ll never wrap my mind around that one,” Bucky said from behind Clint, echoing his sentiment. “I know I was awake every now and again, but I must have missed the shrink ray era.”

Clint flung his quiver from his shoulder to the ground, dropping to his knees to unlock the second chamber where he kept his specialty arrows. He glanced at Bucky, who covering the North side of the building, picking off a few of the robots every few seconds with his rifle. Clint knew that if he kept chancing glances like that that he would eventually lose track of his surroundings, and time for the matter, and that would be bad. So he refocused on the task at hand, withdrawing half a dozen arrows.

“That looks like some pretty heavy duty hardware ya got there, Hawkeye,” Bucky said, and when Clint acknowledged him he had moved to the east side of the roof, closer than he had been seconds ago. Clint clicked his tongue and loaded his bow, getting back into a standing position.

“Explosive arrows. Should take out more than one at a time. This shit’s getting tedious.” On the last word Clint released the arrow, and there was a satisfying BOOM added to the chaos below a few seconds later. 

“You can be a scary guy, ya know that?” Bucky teased, not taking his eyes off of the targets below, where Vision was taking out lines of robots at a time with his super awesome laser powered abilities that Clint wasn’t the least bit envious of, nope, not at all. 

“You’re making me feel awfully manly, striking fear in the heart of a Howling Commando. Better watch out, it’ll go to my head which I think Widow would agree really doesn’t need to happen.” Clint spoke absently, trying not to hit any of their comrades on ground level. The disgusting clicking sounds of the bug legs was becoming less noticeable, and it appeared as though they were getting close to eradicating the group after three grueling hours. 

“What Widow and everybody else on this team can agree on is that we’re getting tired of your ceaseless flirting, Snipers. You’re lucky your deaf, Hawkeye, or else I’d strip you of your comms.” Natasha’s voice betrayed the fact that she was teasing, but only just so, and fuck her for making Clint blush during a mission. 

“Aw, leave ‘em alone,” Sam crooned, and Clint watching him swoop in front of where they were stationed on top of a low level building, “I think they’re cute.”

Bucky sounded scandalized when he responded with a strangled “Cute? I’m the Winter fucking Soldier, birdbrain! I’ll show you cute.”

“Soldier! Watch your language on the comms!” Steve blared in Clint’s ear.

“Hi Dad!” Clint exclaimed, grinning as he did so.

“You guys are hurting Cap’s sensibilities. It’s great. Keep going,” chimed in Tony. 

“Thanks Mom,” Bucky added, and holy shit, Clint nearly dropped his bow trying to hold himself together at that beautiful level of snark. Their banter ended and for the next thirty minutes the team continued to work together from the ground up to eliminate the threat. 

“Hold fire, Hawkeye, Soldier,” Steve said finally, and Clint’s arms slumped in relief. He was down to using his boomerang arrows, having to wait for them to make the return flight back to him before reloading, and the time between the shots had started to create a slow burn in his muscles. He broke down his bow, ready to head down to the park to meet with SHIELD to start navigating clean up, when he heard a strange sound from the South side of the building. 

“Ah, fuck!” Clint yelled, the sight of three of the damn bugs charging towards Bucky and himself. “Buck, fire!” He knew that he wouldn’t have time to get his bow up before they were splashed with acid, and he didn’t have time to check if Bucky still had his weapon drawn. To his relief, the creature closest to him began to spark and stilled as a bullet ripped through its side, followed quickly by the second. Clint whipped his head to Bucky in time to see the third nearly having made its way to him as Bucky was trying to reload. 

Without thinking, Clint rushed toward the bug, with long fast strides in the hopes of tackling the little asshole or at least changing its course. He heard his name at the same time that he felt his shoulder make contact with the cold metal of its body and then he dropped heavily down to the asphalt ground of the roof.

Why had he dropped? Had the stupid bug sprayed him without noticing? Clint tried to sit, the bug having been demolished by Bucky a split second later, and pain ripped through the right side of his body. He groaned and looked down, seeing blood pool around his side and oh. He’d been shot.

He didn’t hear what Bucky was screaming at him when he approached and dropped down beside him. His aids were working fine, Clint knew, but he also recognized that he was going into shock, the pain finally making itself known where the bullet had hit just above his right hip. He saw Bucky’s face take over his vision, fear and panic flooding his eyes, and Clint tried to smile before passing out, tried to convey that it was fine, that everything was fine. 

*

Clint had been hit by a truck once and honestly, getting shot wasn’t that bad in comparison. 

It was the first thought that entered his head as he pulled himself from sleep, groggy and drowsy and generally feeling like a giant ache. He didn’t open his eyes right away, taking a moment to enjoy the peace and quiet of having his aids out and his eyes closed. He knew what he would see when he opened them; a dimly lit hospital room that smelled like bleach and new plastic, one of the five or six SHIELD physicians or maybe a nurse looming over him with a familiar look of chastisement in their eyes, and probably Nat looking bored in an uncomfortable chair. 

Clint had had his fair share of hospital visits and at this point it was all old news.

Sighing deeply he acquiesced to his fate and blinked his eyes open, letting them adjust to the overhead fluorescents. He looked to his left; his monitors and the door. He looked to his right, ready to ask Nat for his ears, and choked on his voice when he saw that the only other person in the room with him was most definitely not Natasha. 

Bucky was asleep, looking wholly uncomfortable with his ass in a plastic chair pulled up close to Clint’s bed, his head pillowed on his folded arms near Clint’s abdomen. Bucky’s hair was splayed everywhere, looking stark against the bright white of the hospital sheets. He appeared to be sleeping and so Clint just allowed himself to watch, basking in the feeling that Bucky was here, had been for awhile if he was exhausted enough to fall asleep. That had to mean something; even Clint wasn’t thick enough to believe that it didn’t. 

After a few more minutes passed silently, Clint decided that he really wanted his aids. He looked around, craning his neck, but couldn’t see them anywhere. To top it off, he really, really needed to pee. That being the deciding factor, Clint reached over and placed his hand on the back of Bucky’s head gently, smoothing his hair as he massaged his hand down to Bucky’s neck. Bucky grumbled for a minute before turning his head to face Clint, head still down. Clint smiled and tucked Bucky’s hair behind his exposed ear and watched Bucky blink awake. Before he had even fully stirred, Bucky was reaching into his pocket. He produced Clint’s aids, holding them out in his palm for Clint to take and insert into his ears. Something about it felt so incredibly intimate, domestic even, and maybe this was worth getting shot?

That was the last thought that Clint had before everything went to hell. 

Once his faculties returned to him, Bucky stood up so quickly that Clint jumped, startled. 

“Hey, Buck, sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Clint started, the words dying in his throat at the pure look of rage on Bucky’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky let escape a sound that was more of a growl than a laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me with that? You’re laid up in a hospital bed because I SHOT you, and you’re askin’ me what’s wrong?!”

Anxiety bloomed beneath Clint’s ribcage. Well fuck, this wouldn’t do.

“Bucky, no. It wasn’t your fault, obviously. It was a shit situation and-”

“What were you thinking, Barton? I had it under control and then you were just there, like you were tryin’ for the bullet. What the hell?” Bucky was dangerously close to yelling now, and usually Clint was a defensive asshole when being yelled at, but he was too focused on the use of his last name to really care about that at the moment. 

“It was coming for you and you weren’t ready! I didn’t really want to sit there and watch you get sprayed with acid, Bucky,” Clint shot back, unable to keep the snark out of the last word.

Bucky closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling, frozen in place for a few breaths. Hoping that he had pulled his shit together, Clint exhaled. Was it time to go back to sleep? Because he was so, so tired. 

“C’mere, Buck,” Clint said, holding his hand out. 

Bucky opened his eyes and straightened his neck, gaze meeting Clint’s. Clint’s stomach clenched at the coldness there, and he let his hand fall. 

“Don’t touch me, Barton. This whole thing? I shouldn’ta let you all rope me into it. It was a big fuckin’ mistake. You’re too good to have told me no, but I thought you were too smart to say yes. So, just. No more. Don’t you ever touch me again, do you understand me?” Bucky’s voice was pleading, and Clint’s eyes burned.

He didn’t know how to respond, and so he stayed quiet as Bucky walked out of the room.

*

“Buck, hey. Is everything-oof!” Steve exclaimed after opening the door to his apartment, surprised to find Bucky on the other side. Last he had known, Bucky was at the hospital, refusing to move from Clint’s bedside for the last 13 hours. But Clint must have woken up, because instead of being at the hospital Bucky was here, surging forward and clinging to Steve like his life depended on it. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s back immediately, holding him tightly, heart surging at the feeling of Bucky mimicking the action and hugging Steve tightly. It had been long, so long since he had hugged his best friend, his brother, and Steve’s throat burned with the onslaught of feelings that came along with it.

Knowing that now wasn’t the time for praise or nostalgia, Steve took a few steps back, Bucky going with him. He used a leg to kick the door closed behind him, the loud sound obviously catching Tony’s attention from the living room. Tony rounded the corner, face alight with confusion, and then delight at the sight of Steve and Bucky hugging, and again in confusion.

“Hey Barnes. Barton okay?” Tony asked, and Steve snapped his head up in shock. He had been so taken aback by Bucky’s touch that he hadn’t even thought that maybe he was upset because-

“Clint’s an asshole,” Bucky murmured into Steve’s shirt, and Steve relaxed at that. Tony visibly let go of the tension in his shoulders and approached the two of them slowly.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve asked, rubbing small circles into Bucky’s back. Bucky didn’t respond for a minute, and when he did Steve’s heart clenched.

“I love ‘im, Stevie.”

Steve met Tony’s eyes, imagining that his expression likely matched Tony’s own; eyes wide, mouth open in surprise. Steve squeezed Bucky tighter.

“That’s...that’s great, Buck,” Steve responded, and that was obviously the wrong answer. Bucky pulled back, looking at Steve incredulously, eyes rimmed with red.

“Yeah, Cap. Real great. First fella, hell, first person I’ve ever loved, and I shoot him. Typical. I’m not good for him, Steve, and I knew it. He’s been so good ta me and I shot him for it.”

Steve’s heart had broken many times in his life, what was one more time? Not knowing what to say, Steve pulled Bucky back into the hug.

“I’m sorry, pal. I know it was an accident, I’m sure Clint does too, but it still has to smart,” Steve whispered. Bucky sighed and hooked his chin over Steve’s shoulder. He must have seen Tony shuffling from foot to foot nearby, because Bucky let out a small huff.

“Geeze, c’mon Stark, you look like a neglected puppy,” Bucky said, letting go of Steve with one arm and beckoning Tony over. Tony let out a small sound that Steve swore was a tiny “yay!” and stepped over, circling one arm around Steve’s waist and one around Bucky’s. They stayed like that for a few minutes, comfortable and quiet, until Bucky cleared his throat and pulled back. 

“So, thanks for...you know. I just need to go back to my place, be alone for a bit, but this was...nice.” His face was puckered and a flush was creeping up his cheeks. Steve bit back a comment, but Tony didn’t have that skill.

“Awe, Buckaroo, anytime. I’d be a moron to say no to being the meat in a super soldier sandwich of affection.” Tony grinned and Bucky groaned, flipping Tony off behind his back before exiting the apartment, leaving Steve shaking his head like a disappointed babysitter.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few months went by in a blur for Bucky, whose clearance was upgraded to match everyone else's (save for Steve and Tony). The missions came at such an alarming frequency that Bucky wondered where everyone else seemed to find time to have hobbies or any kind of social life outside of the tower. He felt as though when they weren’t fighting to save New York, the country or at times the planet, he was either in the shower, training, or trying to catch up on what little sleep he actually required to function. 

And who would have known how exhausting it could be to avoid one of your own teammates? 

Clint and Bucky were civil to each other; not nearly as close as they had gotten prior to The Incident, and not even as warm as they had been before so, but they were civil all the same. They shared spaces during missions, watched each other’s backs on sniper duty, and attended team meetings and movie nights, same as before.

What they didn’t do was look each other in the eye, sit anywhere beside each other, or talk directly to each other about anything not involving mission parameters. 

It was fucking torture for Bucky, and, well, he certainly knew a thing or two about torture. 

He lamented to Steve (and Tony when he happened to be with Steve, which was about 75% of the time by this point) and his therapist alike over those months, about missing Clint. About how he had thought he was doing the right thing by steering clear and making a clean break of what had been happening between them. Because he wasn’t good enough, and because he cared too much. If there was one thing Bucky knew, it was that bad luck and heartbreak seemed to latch on to those he cared about. 

Clint didn’t deserve that, and he didn’t deserve Clint. It should have been that simple, Bucky would say, so why wasn’t it?

“Because of the way you feel, Buck,” Steve would remind him gently, eyes big and shiny. 

“Why do you think it’s not that simple, Bucky?” His therapist would ask, causing him to grit his teeth.

“Have you seen the two of you? If science allowed it, you would make beautiful sharpshooter babies together, with killer thighs,” Tony would croon, earning a glare from Bucky and an elbow from Steve. 

Bucky figured that Steve was right. He didn’t know why or how, but he had fallen pretty hard for the guy. And while he had been hoping that the whole “distance makes the heart forget” bit was true, it seemed that it was being overtaken by the even worse “distance makes the heart grow fonder” saying that his Ma used to spout before he left for the war. Because the longer he went without touching Clint, without hearing his laugh and knowing that he was responsible for creating it, the worse he hurt and the less he slept.

When Natasha happened to mention that maybe Clint was sleeping a little less as well lately (her exact words being “Clint’s taking even worse care of himself than usual, James. I’m going to need you to fix that.”), Bucky felt at once shattered and simultaneously hopeful. Maybe he had made a bad call. Maybe, in his rush to keep Clint safe, he had taken away the one thing that both of them cherished: Choice.

As soon as the realization manifested in his head, Bucky had scraped his chair back from the breakfast table so fast that it fell to the floor, squeezed Natasha’s shoulder in thanks, and made his way immediately down to the range.

*

The last three months had crawled by at such a viscous pace that Clint could have sworn Strange had broken the Time stone. 

Every single fucking day that went by felt like it took eons to end. It probably had something to do with the fact that nearly every day, Clint was forced to be in the same room or on the same rooftop of sitting in the same tree as Bucky for reasons that he decided to simply blame on the Universe being a dick. There were times when he was close enough to Bucky to smell the guy, for fucksake, making his very bones ache with the need to reach out and touch. Every time the thought would run through his mind it was immediately chased with the vitriol that Bucky had spat in his hospital room, and it would replace Clint’s urge to reach out with the urge instead to berate himself inside his head for reasons that he didn’t even understand. 

Sure, Steve had talked to him a few times over the last few months, had tried to explain that Bucky was doing what he thought was right, but it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference. Clint had thought that the two of them were at the very least friends, possibly with the potential of something more. Obviously, he had been so fucking wrong that it was almost laughable. A super soldier like Bucky Barnes? The war hero, the Howling Commando James Buchanan Barnes himself, wanting something to do with a guy like Clint? Ha! That would be the day. 

One small piece of reprieve that Clint allowed himself was his time at the range. On that particular morning, Sam was there with him for no other reason other than to test the new retrieval mode on Red Wing by making the robot fetch Clint’s arrows. The company was enjoyable as it always was with Sam, light and airy with just the right amount of sass. Clint was halfway through his third dozen-shot round when the door to the range opened behind him.

“Sergeant Barnes has entered the range,” Jarvis announced. Clint flinched, but barely, and he didn’t miss a beat between his shots. He could hear Sam and Bucky talking quietly behind him in the time to took to let loose the last six arrows, but he found the self-control to not turn around until he was finished. 

When he did turn around, Sam had gotten to his feet and was packing Red Wing away, as though readying himself to leave. Bucky’s back was to Clint as he talked to Sam, gesturing with his hands. Clint took the moment to simply watch Bucky move and to admire the way the lights of the range glinted off of his arm.

And then Bucky leaned forward and wrapped Sam in a loose hug, and Clint’s breath was knocked from his lungs. 

He couldn’t fucking do it anymore.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” he announced to everybody and nobody all at once. He folded his bow and stalked past where the other two men were standing and now gaping at him. He didn’t glance back, not even when they both called out his name to stop him. He didn’t stop moving until he was safely back in his apartment, door closed firmly behind him.

*

“What are you doing here?” Clint asked Bucky, two weeks later. It was 3:30 in the morning, a time that Clint had intentionally chosen due to the fact that he had decided to actively avoid most everybody in the tower, thank you very much.

Bucky dropped his bag on the ground next to where Clint was laying and sweating profusely, having been rudely interrupted halfway through his set of sit ups. Clint stared up at Bucky, who loomed over him, standing closer than they had been to each other in months.

“I set an alarm. J told me that this is your new workout routine, so here I am.”

Clint sighed and sat up, cursing Jarvis under his breath. “Okay? Well, here I am and I guess here I go.” Clint made to stand up, was halfway there when Bucky reached out to support his elbow the rest of the way. Clint jerked backward so hard that he nearly fell.

“What the hell, Barnes?” Clint snapped, cold fury coming out of nowhere. Fury at Bucky for having the audacity to lay a hand on him after what he had pulled at the hospital, and fury at himself for the way that the contact had caused pleasant goosebumps to rise in its wake.

Bucky’s eyes grew wide, and he took a full step back. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think…”

“Yeah, that much is evident. Goodnight, Sergeant,” Clint said, shooting off a mock salute and heading towards the door.

“Clint, please! I didn't come down here to chase you away, dammit. I came to tell ya that I was wrong.” 

It was all Clint had been hoping to hear, but rather than feel his hurt diminish, Clint felt as though fuel had been added to the fire. He spun around and stalked towards Bucky, who managed to look vulnerable even while standing his ground.

“Fuckin’ right you were wrong! What gives you the right to act like I violated you by trying to save your life? All of it, everything that we had been doing, all of the ‘full consent’ bullshit didn’t cover something like trying to make sure you weren’t hurt? Fuck, Bucky, I woulda done the same thing for any member of this team and you know what they would have done? Thanked me, made fun of me for being a disaster magnet, and brought me food. Not tell me to bippity-boppity the fuck on out of their lives for good, you dick.” Clint’s chest was heaving and he took a deep breath. Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but Clint held a hand up to cut him off.

“Nope, if we’re doing this, we’re doing this. I thought we were friends, and I had assumed that you chose me for the Touch Thing because I could empathize with having a psychopath in my head and knew what it was like to lose control. So here’s the thing; if you don’t want to be touched, that’s great. That’s golden and 100% your choice. Hell, if you wanna be touched by everyone in the damn world except for me that’s just peachy. But you don’t get to order me around when it comes to my own decisions and you don’t get to decide where I place blame for shit that happens to me. So tell me, when you told me never to touch you again, were you doing it for your benefit or for mine?”

When Clint stopped talking he clamped his mouth shut, partly out of shock at his own word spewage, partly because Bucky looked more and more like Clint was physically hitting him as he spoke, and partly because he had wanted to know the answer to the posed question for months. 

Bucky swallowed a few times and shifted his weight. He looked down towards his feet and damn that fucking hair curtain. Clint hadn’t seen the hair curtain in some time and had been hopeful that it meant Bucky’s self-esteem and confidence was getting better, yet here it was. 

“Yours,” Bucky whispered after nearly a full minute, and Clint’s hands loosened at his side, falling from the shape of fists. 

“You told me to never touch you again because you thought it would be good for me?” Clint asked slowly, some of the volume gone from his voice. Bucky nodded.

“Okay. So here’s the problem, Bucky. I’m a grown ass man and I would like to decide what’s good for me and what isn’t. Doing that shit for me is just condescending. Do you get that?”

Bucky nodded again before looking up. “I shot you. I didn’t want to touch anyone or get close with anyone because I didn’t want to hurt any of you, and when I finally let it happen, I shot you. And I’m sorry.”

Clint was torn, a maelstrom of twisty feelings building up in his abdomen. “Bucky. If you’re going to apologize for something, apologize for the thing that wasn’t an unfortunate accident. Don’t apologize for the fact that our timing was shitty; if we’re gonna be bros, you’re going to have to get used to that.”

Bucky’s face snapped up further at that, his damn hair finally falling away. They were two strides away from each other, and there was eye contact galore, and even though Clint was still angry he was also feeling sucker-punched because damn, he had nearly forgotten how fucking beautiful Bucky was.

“Do you,” Bucky stopped, licking his lips. “Do you think we could be? I’m not gonna say bros because I’m not fifteen, but do you think we could be friends again? The way we were?”

Jesus Christ, Clint was wrapped around each and every one of those little metal fingers. But no, not completely, because he still deserved an apology.

“You tell me you’re sorry and what you’re sorry for, and sure, Buck. I would like that.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled. “Okay. I’m sorry for being an asshole who doesn’t know how to react when someone does somethin’ nice for me, and I’m sorry that I thought I could decide things for you instead of yourself.” Bucky looked like he was shivering as he spoke, but he looked happy all the same.

Clint smiled, and the tension in the air, while it didn’t disappear completely, diminished. “Okay, Buck. Thank you. And I’m sorry for avoiding you the last few-what the hell are you doing over there? Do you gotta piss or what?” Clint asked, noting that Bucky was even more twitchy than he had been a few seconds ago. 

Bucky laughed (ohfuckClinthadmissedthat) and shook his head. “No. I was just...I’m excited. I’m kind of hopin’ that,” a blush worked its way up Bucky’s throat and into his cheeks, “that you might be alright with the Touch Thing again, because I would kind of really like a hug?”

Bucky had barely finished talking before Clint covered the distance between them, flinging his arms around Bucky so quickly that they nearly fell over. Bucky laughed again, and Clint’s smile was wide enough to hurt his face. They tangled together closely, arms weaved around the other’s back, holding tightly. Clint buried his head in Bucky’s hair and shuffled his feet forward so that their bodies aligned from their toes on up. Bucky simply held on tighter and Clint thought that he could feel Buck’s heart beating over his own chest.

“By the way, asshole, you were wrong. Not touching you? 0/10, would not recommend,” Clint said lightly. 

Bucky snorted. “Yeah? I know. Bad plan. For some reason that I can’t comprehend, I kind of missed your perpetually bruised up mug,” he responded, and even though it wasn’t the nicest thing anyone had ever said to Clint it certainly felt like it. He moved the hand that he had been holding between Bucky’s shoulder blades up into Bucky’s hair, twisting his fingers into the locks as he had done before. 

Bucky shuddered, and oh, Clint was feeling a whole different kind of tension now.

Feeling brazen, and having missed out of months of flirting, Clint leaned close to Bucky’s ear and stated “You know, I’m real proud of all the progress you’ve made, but I gotta say that seein’ you giving out hugs like they’re pieces of gum over the last few weeks has been torture.”

Clint heard Bucky swallow, knowing that it was one of his nervous habits, before responding. “That why you ran outta the range before? When I hugged Sam?”

Clint felt his face grow hot and he tried to wriggle free because uh oh, his own cockiness was leading them into a conversation that he maybe wasn’t ready to have now, or perhaps ever. Bucky leaned back without letting go, raising an eyebrow at Clint, who looked over Bucky’s shoulder and resolutely didn’t answer the question. 

“So it’s gonna be like that, I see,” Bucky said, grinning before stepping back and away from Clint. “Although it’s fine, I feel like I was just in therapy for like 20 straight hours.”

“Speaking of torture,” Clint quipped, and Bucky laughed. He leaned over to grab his gym bag that had been sitting untouched on the floor. Clint followed suit, figuring that his emotional exhaustion paired with his physical exhaustion should make a 4:30 am bedtime doable.

They walked to the elevator together, and Clint was a bit disappointed at how awkward he felt when the doors closed. This wouldn’t do, and if they were going to fix things then he would have to put on his big boy pants.

“So. Wanna hang out tomorrow? I have Lucky for a few days, was hoping to get him out for a walk in the morning.”

Bucky nodded quickly. “Yeah, I do. I miss that mutt.”

That made Clint smile. He thought about cracking a joke about Bucky apologizing and laying it on thick for Clint in order to get to Lucky, but he chose to bask in the fact that Bucky had missed him, instead.

They parted ways at Clint’s door, Bucky continuing his way down the hall to his own apartment. Before he was out of earshot however, Bucky turned around and called Clint’s name, rushed as though it were a split second decision. 

“Yeah?” Clint responded, one foot in his apartment already.

“Just so you know, I don’t hug Sam or anyone else like that,” Bucky said before promptly turning around and hightailing it down the hall.

Clint’s heart raced at the statement until he fell asleep sometime around 5.

*

The next morning, things weren’t back to how they had been before their argument, or even as they had been a few hours prior, in the gym. There were some tense moments, a blanket of awkwardness and uncertainty, and Clint knew that they were both trying too hard. But it was nice, and so, so much better than the months of silence that he had grown accustomed to. It was obvious that his feelings for Bucky hadn’t waned over time, and Clint spent their walk internally groaning at the realization that he was perhaps a little more than half in love with him at that point. The realization made him try harder to be aloof, to be a bro and nothing more. He felt as though he must be acting strangely with the weird and curious looks that Bucky gave him throughout the morning.

Regardless, the hiccups and the messiness didn’t matter by the early afternoon, not after their walk back to the tower, during which Bucky had nonchalantly and in the middle of a sentence reached between them and curled his flesh hand around Clint’s own, intertwining their fingers. Bucky continued talking about some car that Tony had roped him into helping with, seemingly clueless to the fact that everything he did turned Clint’s life upside down while Clint hung on frantically, trying not to fall.

However, when Bucky squeezed Clint’s hand to get his attention in order to point out a dog walker heading their way with half a dozen or so very pettable looking dogs, Clint wondered if maybe he should just let go, to see where the fall took him


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Intense feelings intensify*
> 
> Things are getting good, folks, as we round into the final few chapters.
> 
> This has been a blast to write, and honestly has been a great exercise in self-care for me. I appreciate every one of you who are taking the time to read, leave kudos, and comment, especially on a WIP. 
> 
> You're all the real MVP.
> 
> Enjoy some Winterhawk cuddles and Domestic!Avengers. 
> 
> (Also, if you've read my HulkEye oneshot, you'll notice that I have a thing for Bruce and Bucky being movie-watching buddies. It's canon in my head. I won't budge.)

Being Bucky’s friend was as amazing as it was fucking awful and Clint figured that he would eventually die due to his level of pining. 

After Bucky broke the dam with the hand-holding, it was as though the floodgates had opened. Whereas Bucky had done everything possible to avoid touching others during his first few months at the tower, now it seemed as though he went out of his way at any given opportunity to touch Clint. Specifically Clint. Which, okay, was he intentionally trying to drive Clint nucking futz?

Not that Bucky didn’t touch any of the others. He absolutely did, and it was obvious that he tried damn hard to do so. Sometimes the hugs that he gave to other team members seemed easy, while there were days where it looked as though it took all of his strength to even sit close to that same person. Everyone seemed to understand, and they all made efforts to acknowledge Bucky’s progress on his good days and not push him on his bad.

But when it came to Clint, there didn’t seem to be any effort behind the touches. It made sense to Clint because he was his specific In Vivo Touch Thing Buddy, but it also made Clint feel dangerously important to Bucky in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin sometimes. The now frequent hugs when they parted ways, the way that Bucky would mess up Clint’s hair whenever he walked by, the fact that Bucky’s body seemed to seek Clint’s out without a second thought. All of these things were awesome, and beautiful, and confusing.

It was Bruce who noticed first (or maybe he just had the balls to say something before anyone else, Nat’s offhand jokes about flirting notwithstanding). Clint hadn’t noticed Bruce walking into the community kitchen early one morning, had figured that he and Bucky were the only ones awake. Bucky had snuck up behind Clint where he was standing in front of the coffee maker and had steadied himself with his hand on Clint’s lower back as he reached up into the cupboard for a bowl. Clint was surprised by the contact and had allowed himself to simply enjoy the moment, closing his eyes and keeping them closed even after Bucky’s hand dropped and he took his bowl to the pantry for cereal.

Clint’s eyes had flown open when Bruce cleared his throat and gee, great. Clint went back to making his coffee, pointedly ignoring Bruce as he lightly stepped around the kitchen to make tea, the same as he did every morning. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Bruce had asked quietly, voice unnervingly calm and even. 

Clint could have pretended that he didn’t know what Bruce was talking about. He could have gotten defensive, deflected with humor, or simply flipped Bruce off and stalked out of the kitchen. 

Instead, Clint sighed. “No point in risking it. We have a hard enough time makin’ and keepin’ friends, wouldn’t you say?”

Bruce had made a humming sound in the back of his throat and had gone back to stirring his tea. After what felt like eons, Clint’s coffee was finished brewing and he hustled to get out of there, to find Bucky so that they could catch up on that week’s episode of Dog Cops before Clint reported for scheduled retcon duty and Bucky headed to the lab for his monthly upgrade from Tony. Clint thought that Bruce was going to let it go, was going to be chill and let Clint resume his avoidance, but as luck would have it Bruce did not do that thing.

“For what it’s worth, I think he would really like to hear it,” Bruce said, and Clint could punch him for how supportive and non-judgmental he sounded. Ugh. Why was Clint always surrounded by such GOOD people? It was exhausting.

Clint smiled at Bruce and shrugged before taking his coffee into the community living room.

*

Clint took it back.

Bruce wasn’t a good person.

In fact, Bruce was a _goddamn menace._

There was zero other explanation as to why Bruce had brought a bean bag chair, no doubt from his own apartment (no way in Hell Tony would own something so garishly orange), to movie night the following evening instead of taking his usual spot by Bucky on the black leather loveseat at the back of the room. Bucky and Bruce made a good movie pair; neither liked butter on their popcorn and neither liked to talk during the movies. They both also enjoyed their own personal space, and the loveseat was plenty big enough for the both of them to not worry about knocking elbows. Therefore, it had basically become ritual that they shared the loveseat every movie night, while Clint typically threw himself into one of the armchairs or perched on the edge of the couch if only to amuse Thor or bother Wanda with his incessant commentary. 

And yet when Clint walked in, having showered last minute and therefore a few minutes late, the first thing he noticed was Bruce sitting in the front of the room, in front of the chair where Tasha sat curled up with a blanket. Bruce didn’t pull his eyes from the paused screen or make eye contact with Clint, who shot him a look of ‘really, Banner? Subtle’ when he realized that the only open spot in the room was next to Bucky on the loveseat. 

Not that Clint minded, of course. In fact, he was thrilled, which he was certain that Bruce knew, and dammit.

Clint had to step in front of Bucky to get to the empty spot, and Bucky’s focus was startled from whatever he was reading on his tablet. He smiled when he saw Clint sitting down beside him, turning his tablet off instantly and setting it aside, and Clint couldn’t help his own easy grin from forming. Clint’s smile grew wider when, instead of keeping to his own cushion, Bucky readjusted himself once Clint was comfortable until they were pressed side to side from their shoulders to their thighs. Bucky was warm against him, the contact was immediate, and Clint wanted to kiss his stupid face. 

“What are we watching?” Clint whispered to Bucky, Jarvis having just started the movie. Clint was touched that they’d waited for him.

Bucky blew an errant strand of hair from his forehead, looking puzzled. “Something ‘Redemption,’ I think? Shanking Redemption?”

“Oh fuck, that was adorable. The Shawshank Redemption?” Clint clarified, knowing he was correct before Bucky could confirm due to the beginning of the credits on the screen. Bucky nodded anyways and elbowed Clint in the ribs.

The room quieted and everyone was transfixed within moments. Clint stayed quiet for once; this happened to be one of his favorite films. In spite of that (or maybe because of that?) Clint was primarily watching Bucky watch the film, eager to see his reactions. Bucky stayed relatively stoic, barely blinking as the story unfolded. Clint thought that he had been pretty stealthy in the way he stared at Bucky’s lower lip and the curve of his silhouette.

At least, until Tony paused the film halfway and announced the need for a bathroom break. When the lights came up, most of them dispersed towards the bathrooms or the kitchen and when Clint turned to ask Bucky his thoughts so far, the words died in his throat when he realized that Bucky was staring right at him, a shit-eating smirk on his face.

“...what? You’re being creepy,” Clint said lightly. 

“Really? I’m being creepy? What part of the movie are we on, Clint?” Bucky asked, his voice sounding suspiciously innocent. 

Clint blanked, and then he panicked. “Uhhh.”

Bucky snorted and reached down to pat Clint’s knee. “That’s what I thought.” Keeping his hand resting, warm and heavy on Clint’s leg, Bucky leaned slightly closer, whispering in Clint’s ear. “You don’t gotta have an excuse to look, Clint.” He was so close that his lip brushed Clint’s ear, and somehow Clint managed to maintain his composure until Bucky stood and made his way into the kitchen. 

A full body shudder shot through Clint like a bullet and his mind raced. He was less freaked about the fact that he had obviously been busted staring at Bucky like a creeping creeper who creeps, and more taken aback by the fact that Bucky seemed to enjoy it. If that hadn’t been intentional flirting, Clint would eat his own hands.

Bucky always flirted with him, but never like that. Oh, fuck.

Clint’s internal panic swelled even further when Bucky came back into sight, having only given him half a minute of reprieve. Bucky held out a beer to him and Clint took it, nodding his thanks, not quite trusting how his voice may or may not betray his state of vulnerability. When Bucky sat back down he was somehow closer than before, and no matter whoever said differently, Clint was not stupid. 

Bucky was here. Bucky was warm, and real, and relaxed beside him. Bucky was touching him, willingly and without panic, and what if Clint’s feelings weren’t as entirely one-sided as he suspected?

Something about the lights going back down once everyone was settled made it easier for Clint to decide what to do next. Telling himself repeatedly in his mind that he was an adult, that Bucky had identified this as something he wanted to do, and that there was no reason to be half as terrified as he felt, Clint raised his arm to settle it along the back of the loveseat above Bucky’s shoulders. 

And, without even a moment of hesitation, Bucky melted against him, fluidly fitting his head on Clint’s chest just below where his arm met his shoulder, as though they had planned this, had practiced for it. 

Clint’s heart was going to fucking explode, and with a bravado that he didn’t know he had he dropped his arm from the furniture back and rested it around Bucky, his hand fitting against Bucky’s side. Bucky made a warm sound in his throat and burrowed further into Clint, his hair tickling Clint’s chin as he rested it on the top of Bucky’s head.

They remained that way for a long while, a tension thrumming between them as though they were afraid to move. That was until Bucky pulled his legs onto the loveseat and moved his arm around Clint’s back. Clint leaned forward to let Bucky do so and settled back, pulling Bucky down to lay in his lap. Clint could both see and feel Bucky’s lips turn up once he was comfortable, and yeah. The Winter Soldier would be the death of him, just never in the way he’d allowed himself to imagine.

A few minutes later, the movie drawing to a close, Clint decided that his death would come sooner rather than later if he didn’t get his hands on Bucky’s skin. He moved slowly, allowing Bucky time to stop him, rucking up Bucky’s shirt by mere inches until his fingers were resting against the flesh on Bucky’s side. Bucky reacted by squeezing Clint’s side lightly, and Clint spent the rest of the film drawing small circles on Bucky’s skin, joy and light and that dangerous four-letter word filling him.

As the final scene started on the screen, Bucky suddenly removed his arm and turned, causing Clint’s hand to fall away. Bucky turned until he was on his back, the back of his head in Clint’s lap so that he could look up at Clint’s face. He didn’t say anything, didn’t give anything up, his face passive and ethereal in the dark with minimal light. Clint held eye contact with him, holding his breath because yeah...this was something important.

“It’s obvious that they’re in love,” Clint heard Sam say, and both he and Bucky jumped, Bucky sitting back up quickly and Clint standing up from the loveseat entirely. 

“What?” Clint asked, the lights coming back up as end credits rolled.

“The two of them. Have you not watched this movie? I bet they grow old together, illegally married, building boats on that beach,” Sam responded, motioning towards the screen. Clint’s heartbeat slowed back into something relatively normal. 

“Oh, right. Maybe? I dunno,” Clint mumbled.

“I disagree. Not every great bromance needs to be more than that,” Tony stated, and Clint could not deal with the look that flitted across Steve’s face at that. 

Clint turned to check on Bucky, to get his thoughts, but Bucky was no longer on the loveseat. Clint’s stomach dropped and he glanced upward toward the door. Bucky hadn’t left yet and didn’t seem to be all that rushed. 

“I have a consult with Fury in the morning,” Bucky said to the room. “It was a good flick, thanks for showing us, Rhodes.” Bucky saluted to the chorus of ‘goodnight’s from the room. Everyone turned their attention back to the conversation, but Clint kept his eyes on Bucky as he opened the door. 

Just before he walked through, Bucky turned to look back over his shoulder. He met Clint’s eye and Clint sent a small wave. Bucky winked and then was gone, leaving Clint reeling. 

Reeling, and _soaring._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay with this chapter, but it was a freaking beast. I couldn't get it right and no matter what I didn't feel entirely happy with it, so I had to start from scratch. I finally got it to a place I like. Hopefully, the fact that it's the longest chapter will make up for the nearly two-week delay.
> 
> Thank you for those of you who have continued to read, leave comments and kudos. I truly adore Winterhawk shippers, you're all so encouraging and make me feel excited about these two goons more and more every day.
> 
> That said, only two chapters left! I hope you enjoy :)

Clint couldn’t recall who started the argument, which eventually turned into a challenge, and further still into a bet. He wanted to say it had been Bucky, but knew deep down inside that it had probably been himself who had opened his big fucking mouth. 

Regardless of who the instigator had been, it had led to that moment; two and a half hours into a three hour challenge at the range, with every known Avenger including Spidey and Deadpool, as well as Rhodes, Fury, Hill, and a few other rogue SHIELD agents who had been tipped off by an unknown source (Natasha. Had to have been Natasha) surrounding himself and Bucky as they battled it out in the range. Clint’s back, hips, and shoulder sockets were on fire, not to mention his hands; had this challenge consisted of nothing but archery, he would have been golden, but no.

It had to be ‘fair,’ because Captain America.

They were on challenge three of three. For the first hour, they had tried to outshoot each other using long range sniper rifles. Bucky had outshot Clint by three targets, and okay, that was fine; it was Bucky’s specialty, after all. And it wasn’t that Clint had missed a shot, of course not, rather he had simply completed three less targets in the hour on hand.

Bless Stark tech, because had they been using real targets that shit would have gotten really, really pricey.

The second hour had been nothing but bows and arrows, and while Clint had finished in the lead following that hour, he was duly impressed and annoyed with how close Bucky had come to matching him, even in this. But Clint had gained five targets on Bucky during the second hour, putting him in the lead by two total targets at the beginning of round three.

Which, okay, it was so fucking tedious to shoot a fucking handgun for 60 minutes, what with the reloading and just how _boring_ it was. Handguns were both Clint and Bucky’s secondary weapons, and so Steve had decided that it would make for a fair balance.

Clint thought about making his reward watching Steve and Tony do this same nonsense, for shits and giggles and for the tension, because Clint was starting to live for that shit apparently. 

As the peanut gallery watched on from the back of the range, Clint refocused, flitting his eyes as quickly as possible to the digital scoreboard above their targets. Clint was still up by two.

“Did you decide yet on what you want if you win?” Bucky’s voice came in clearly through the comm in his ear protection muffs, not even the least bit breathless, the asshole.

Clint clicked his tongue. “Was thinkin’ about making Steve and Tony do something like this.”

Bucky laughed and Clint’s shooting paused for the slightest moment. Bucky didn’t falter, and now Clint was only leading by one.

Fucking distracting Super Soldier.

“How about you?” Clint responded back, clip dropping to the floor as he simultaneously loaded another.

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed, as though thinking. Ugh. Clint needed him to just...stop, making sounds.

“I was thinking that a massage might be nice. Gotta do it sometime, and even my muscles are feelin’ a bit tense,” Bucky stated, as though that didn’t send a thrill through Clint’s body.

Another pause. Another shot. Even score. Shitbiscuits. 

“Only if it’s okay with you though, you know. You don’t gotta,” Bucky added, voice low even though it would be physically impossible for anyone not on the comm to hear them (even though Clint wouldn’t put it past some of the assholes to be listening in). 

“That would, yeah.” Clint swallowed. “That would be good. For me.” Smooth. “I’ve been told I’m good with my hands, so I’m sure it’ll be good for you, too.”

A ping in Clint’s ear indicated that he was back in the lead. What? Oh.

Okay. So this show of one upmanship had devolved into playing dirty. Clint was decent at playing dirty. 

“You alright over there, Sergeant?” Clint asked, able to hear the own smile in his voice. Bucky cleared his throat and a few seconds went by without banter, filled only with the sounds of their guns, popping in tandem.

“‘M fine,” Bucky finally stated on reload. “Just kinda wondering why you’re still trying so hard to win when I think both of us might like my prize.”

And holy shit, Clint’s brain froze. His body kept moving, because he was a highly trained sniper, but his mind and heart went haywire. His mind, due to the fact that that was most definitely the most flirtatious that Bucky had ever been with him, and his heart because Bucky sounded _terrified_. There was a waver in his voice, a meekness that hadn’t been there before and fuck, that just wouldn’t do. 

So Clint made the executive decision to pause, shift the gun to safety, and set it on the floor in front of him. 

For a few moments Bucky continued to shoot, getting another four or five rounds into his targets before he stopped and sent a bewildered look over to where Clint was standing. Boos and confused sounds came from the audience behind them, and for some reason that made Clint feel happy. 

“Are you for real? You know, even if we start back up again there’s no way you’re gettin’ your lead back.” There was awe in Bucky’s voice. Clint shrugged.

“Yep. Congrats. You’re a better shot than me.” 

Clint didn’t particularly believe the words as he said them, but he found that he meant something far more intentional. He was often proud and egotistical about being the best shot, possibly in the world, and this was the first time that he had been willing to say otherwise. The fact that it didn’t bother him?

Clint was an idiot who was so far in fucking love that he didn’t have a single hope left to dig his way back out, and in that moment that was the only thing he could think to say to try and convey that to Bucky.

Bucky, who grinned slowly and blushed so, so prettily. “You’re damn right I am.” Bucky waltzed over to the weapons locker to stow his gun, after taking Clint’s from where it lay on the floor. Clint stood and watched, anticipation growing in the pit of his stomach. That anticipation quickly soured once he remembered that there were other people in the room, some of them grumbling angrily enough for Clint to hear them from across the range. He turned to see many people exchanging money, most of them handing folded bills over to Steve and Natasha.

“Tash!” Clint bellowed, getting her attention. “Did you seriously bet against me?”

Natasha’s expression remained blank as she raised her voice to yell back. “I knew you would get distracted!”

It was Clint’s turn to blush at that.

*

Clint and Bucky had parted ways at the range doors with a good natured handshake and vague remarks about getting together later. Bucky had fled rapidly back to his own apartment, and now that it was officially ‘later’ and approaching midnight, he didn’t think he could bring himself to seek out Clint. Too many hours had passed since their ridiculous shootout in the range (he knew that he could back down from a challenge, but when it came to Clint, he simply didn’t want to), too many hours since he had learned that all it took from him was a bit of cocky flirting in order to make the infamous Hawkeye stumble his timing. 

Honestly? It had been a huge revelation, an adrenaline high, and when Bucky came down from his adrenaline highs? It never ended within the realm of anything good. 

Bucky had been playing the movie night loveseat snuggles in his head over the last week, having to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling in front of everyone like a loon. He knew, he had known that he had a ton of great big feelings for Clint, and he had started to suspect that maybe, just maybe, some of those feelings might be reciprocated. Bucky knew he was a good looking guy; knew that he was getting some of his swagger back (as Spider-Man called it); knew that he was getting to a healthy spot in his head again, where he didn’t always think bad about himself all the time.

Unfortunately, his progress didn’t make him any less of a dumbass. Because he had asked for a massage from Clint as his reward, and he was pretty sure that meant Clint would be getting up close and personal with his body. Namely his shoulder, gnarled and covered with thick ropes of scarring where his prosthetic connected. Tony had the ability to give him a gorgeous prosthetic, but the man wasn’t a plastic surgeon. 

Bucky paced around the living room of his apartment as the hour grew later, creeping closer to one a.m. at a brutal pace. He knew that Clint would be expecting him. It was something unspoken, not really planned to a T, but the expectation was there, the expectation that Bucky would be wanting to cash in on his prize, especially since it was next on their list, but Bucky couldn’t, he didn’t think he could-

On the brink of an anxiety attack, Jarvis’ calm voice came from overhead. “Sergeant Barnes, Agent Barton is at your door.” Not a moment later Bucky heard the rapping sound of uncertain knuckles and somehow, knowing that Clint was there, was right there just feet away made Bucky feel calmer, eager, aching.

“Hey, Buck,” Clint greeted when Bucky flung open the door. “I know it’s la-whoa. Everything okay?”

“I don’t wanna take my shirt off,” Bucky blurted, feeling himself flush at the very sudden exclamation. 

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, okay?” And the two of them stood there staring at each other, Bucky’s breath becoming steadier, until Bucky startled. 

“Fuck, sorry. Come in.” 

Whenever they met up in the Tower, it was typically either in a community space or Clint’s apartment. Now that Bucky was thinking about it, he didn’t think Clint had ever been inside of his apartment before, and that did nothing to help his nerves.

“I know there’s not a lot…” Bucky started, motioning towards the living room. Clint just smiled and took a seat on the couch, the only piece of furniture in the room aside from a small side table and a television mounted on the wall. 

“Nah, I get it,” Clint said easily, leaning back to get more comfortable. “Bare rooms are easy to scope. No hiding places, makes you feel safe.” It was a statement, not a question or even an assumption, and Bucky breathed easier.

“See, and you keep on sayin’ ya don’t know why I picked you. That right there is part of the reason.”

Clint’s smile grew smaller and more genuine. “Any regrets?”

Bucky shook his head instantly. “No. Aside from having our heads up our asses sometimes, not a single one.”

Clint pulled his feet onto the couch then, plopping them in Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s hands found the bare skin of Clint’s ankles instantly, as though they did this all the time.

“Well, Buck, should I ask?”

Bucky sighed before rolling his head to the side to meet Clint’s gaze. “Figure there might be a few questions, so shoot.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome, since we said later and it got to be way, way later with no word from you wanting to cash in on your prize. So I’ll start by askin’ if it’s okay that I’m here?”

Clint spoke softly, and shadows played on his features in such a way that made Bucky’s breath catch. His dark blonde hair looked ruffled and he had in his purple aids, which Bucky had long ago decided were his favorites. Clint looked lived-in, comfortable, like he belonged, and he looked like that no matter where he was or who he was with. 

Bucky longed for that to be himself, at times. Other times he simply wanted to look as though he belonged wherever Clint was.

“‘Course it’s okay that you’re here. It’s not like you interrupted my beauty sleep or anything.” Bucky’s words were light, and Clint groaned.

“You’re leaving a door wide open there, Buck, but I’m gonna let that one go. My second question is about what you said about your, uh, shirt? I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you meant you wanted to leave your shirt on during the massage that I owe you, you’re welcome for that by the way, and that’s fine. I don’t want to make you uncozy at all. But I’m just wondering if you’d let me know why, if that’s okay to ask? Cuz you know, I’ve seen you shirtless. We all have, nature of missions and all, and I gotta say that it hasn’t exactly been a chore.” Clint winked on the last word and Christ, even when he said things that should be smooth he was such a gorgeous disaster.

Bucky took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and started to apply pressure to Clint’s ankle with his flesh hand, using his left hand to start rubbing the sole of Clint’s foot. Clint made a wretchedly blissed out noise and wriggled further into the couch as Bucky spoke.

“On mission, we’re all busy, all focusin’ on the targets. Sure, we’ve all seen flashes of most of one another, and more of Banner than some of us expected, but there’s never any time to really pay attention.” Bucky paused, continuing his ministrations on Clint’s feet. “My shoulder, it’s not a pretty sight. That part of my body has been frozen, broken, tortured, and operated on more times than I can count, and it shows. You’ve seen enough horror and ugly things in this world, we all have and I just. I don’t want you to think of me as...one of those things.”

Bucky was proud that his voice didn’t shake or otherwise betray the searing amount of vulnerability that he felt in that moment. Clint didn’t respond right away, instead allowing for Bucky to switch to his other foot in silence. Once Bucky stopped a few minutes later, Clint slowly got to his feet, walked in front of where Bucky was sitting on the couch, and crouched down onto the floor in front of him. 

Clint moved slowly, so slowly that Bucky knew he was allowing for him to decide to draw back if he wanted to. Bucky stayed stock still as Clint cupped his face in his hands, his calloused fingers cradling Bucky’s cheeks. 

“Look at me, Soldier.”

It was a phrase that Bucky had heard so, so many times throughout his life, one that had always made his skin crawl. Here though, now? Clint made the request sound like a prayer and it was a privilege for Bucky to comply. 

“You can leave your shirt on. Hell, you can go add a few layers if ya want, but I would really, really like to get my hands on you now, if that’s okay.” Clint’s words _did_ waver, and Bucky’s core tingled knowing that Clint was just as nervous as he was. Bucky nodded and Clint stood, allowing space for Bucky to lay on his stomach on the couch, head on his forearms. Bucky heard and then felt Clint shuffling across the floor, on his knees beside the couch before he felt a warm and heavy pressure on his back, in the middle of his spine.

It took everything within Bucky not to moan at the feeling of Clint rubbing his back, even through the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of Clint’s hands soaked through the layers of cotton and skin, warming Bucky from the inside out. Clint wasn’t gentle, didn’t treat him like something fragile, instead choosing to push hard everywhere he found knots, kneading them away in a manner that was both intensely painful and equally relieving. 

Clint worked in silence, and Bucky allowed himself to relax and close his eyes. He was transported back in time, to cold and dark nights with the Commandos, trading backrubs and wound dressings, using each other as pillows and gym bags out of the goodness of each other’s hearts and the bond of brotherhood struck true by fighting a war together. 

Bucky had lived so many lives and so many years and yet, this felt like the precipice to the very beginning. 

“Um,” Clint murmured, breaking through Bucky’s thoughts. “I don’t know...do you want me to avoid your shoulder over here all together?”

Bucky was warm, sated, brimming with love and thrumming with contentment. Clint, too, was there out of the kindness of his heart, as a friend, as...something else, entirely. And so Bucky pushed himself upward and drew his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, flinging it into a corner of the room. He caught the look of surprise on Clint’s face before settling back down as he had been, but Clint’s only other tell was the sound of a loud swallow that made Bucky laugh out loud. 

“Shut up, dick,” Clint scolded, rubbing his hands together before tentatively setting them back on Bucky’s skin. “And while this is a turn of events that I am most definitely in favor of, you still didn’t answer my question. Shoulder area a no go?”

Bucky shook his head, moved so that he could speak. “No, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt as bad as you would think, lookin’ at it. It aches pretty much all the time because these fuckin’ prosthetics aren’t exactly lightweight, so if you’re okay with touchin’ me there it might feel kind of good.”

And how had they reached this point when so soon before Bucky was nearing a panic attack at the thought of Clint even seeing him shirtless up close? Bucky buried the question, his therapist’s voice in his head reminding him that he, too, deserved nice things.

Clint was obviously okay with touching Bucky there because he did so immediately. If Clint rubbing his back through his shirt had been enjoyable, the feeling of Clint’s warm and rough fingers bare on his scar tissue was a fucking revelation. Clint rubbed and massaged his mangled body as though worshipping the worst part of Bucky and oh, fuck.

“Ain’t a single part of you that’s anything less than gorgeous, Bucky,” Clint whispered out of nowhere, “and I’m talking stupid, can’t get you out of my head fucking beautiful.”

Bucky’s general feelings of contentment and pleasure shifted instantly into something molten and electric, a moan making its way out of his throat without his permission at Clint’s words. Clint let out a loud exhale in response, his fingers stumbling for the briefest moment before pushing back into Bucky’s flesh with vigor. Bucky found his mouth dry and his pulse hammering, and he spit out his request with pleading force.

“Clint, want you closer, please…”

And Clint was quick to respond, standing from where he had been kneeling and making his way onto the couch with Bucky, one knee on either side of Bucky’s hips. When he leaned forward Bucky could feel his abdomen putting pressure on Bucky’s lower back and he whimpered. Clint bent further forward, nearly blanketing him now, and when he whispered in Bucky’s ear his lips tickled.

“This okay?” Clint’s hands continued to move, open palms dragging up Bucky’s sides now, and Bucky could only nod. Clint didn’t move, still draped over Bucky’s back, hands feeling desperate as they kneaded Bucky’s sides and up below his armpits. There was a spark of pain there, a knot relaxing, and Bucky’s breath was ragged.

“Clint, this is...you are...feels so fucking...I feel so good…”

And Clint was the one to moan now, causing Bucky’s hips to hitch, aroused to the point of feeling overwhelmed in every part of his body, and he could feel Clint’s own arousal and their breathing filled the air and it was dizzying, so much, too much…

“Clint, I need...stop, please, I need up.”

And just like that, Clint was gone, every point of contact cold and Bucky shivered.

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky started as he sat up, head spinning, “I didn’t-”

“Hey, nooooo, none of that. No apologies from you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Clint, fuck, you don’t have to apologize either, that was…”

And they both stopped, and they both burst out laughing, Clint tossing himself back onto the couch to sit beside Bucky. 

“We’re dumb,” Clint said. Bucky smiled in agreement. 

“That was nice. Better than. It was just a lot, for me, at once,” Bucky said, still feeling the need to explain. Clint nodded.

“It really was all of that, everything you just said. I’m real fuckin’ happy you spoke up when you did. That was really, really good.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Okay, Steve, I get it, I did a good job.” Clint punched him in the shoulder lightly and stood back up.

“So, I should go? I feel like I should go. And look, I know we haven’t really talked about this...thing? This thing. And we can, and we should, but I feel like maybe I should give you a bit of space? Am I right or way, way off target?” Clint shuffled his weight on his feet, looking flighty and awkward. Bucky laughed all over again.

“Believe it or not, I’m kind of beat, so good call. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Bucky asked, standing up himself to lead Clint to the door. 

“Sure thing, Bucky Bear,” Clint said, clapping Bucky on the back before stepping through the door. He sent back a salute, their standard goodbye, and Bucky watched him go until he disappeared into his own apartment down the hall. 

Bucky couldn’t wait until tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I know Vision and Jarvis technically shouldn't both simultaneously exist but this story is my happy place and therefore I made it so.
> 
> 2\. I have no idea where the sentence about Thor and the Asgardian hog came from. I don't think I actually made the conscious effort to type it, it just manifested somewhere in the ether and produced itself into existence.
> 
> 3\. Next chapter is the last chapter and I am having some super bitter-sweet feels about that. Alas, you all continue to be the greatest readers of all time. I hope you like this one; it made me smile.

In the week that followed, if someone were to suggest to Clint that he wasn’t the happiest man alive, he would have called their bullshit in a heartbeat. Because even though they hadn’t spoken explicitly about whatever their relationship was becoming, the sure thing about it was that there was a...becoming.

Not only did Clint touch Bucky at just about every damn conceivable moment, but Bucky was touching back. Hands on lower backs to lean over the counter to grasp things out of reach, using elbows or knees to bump each other instead of using names to draw attention, arms on the backs of each other's chairs during dinners or lunches. Clint managed to fill most of his time off-mission figuratively and literally pulling at Bucky’s pigtails (ponytail, whatever), and Bucky really seemed to enjoy reaching out and squeezing Clint’s hand for any feasible reason. 

The best part? Bucky would do this shit in front of anybody, whether it be the team, SHIELD agents, or civilians. Clint took this as permission and followed his instincts regardless of who was around as well, and the quizzical or shy looks that others would give them sometimes were to _live_ for. Steve had a tendency to not only croon over Bucky whenever they touched, but he would also stare longingly at Tony, who would at times stare longingly back, and it gave Clint and Bucky plenty to lament about later as they tried to scheme ways to get them together.

Overall? The only way that Clint would be happier is if he could somehow touch Bucky even more, and the way things were going he was pretty sure that was on the horizon somewhere. Even if it were weeks, months, or hell, years down the line, Clint didn’t care. 

Bucky was worth the wait. 

*

“Maybe on Sunday we can check out that new arcade down the street? I heard their pizza is pretty high standard as far as arcade fare is concerned,” Clint said, dropping down between Bucky and Vision on the couch in the community living room. Bucky looked over at him, his expression amused.

“One, who informs you of these things and two, I bet arcades now are way better than what I’m used to. Sounds good.” Bucky replied easily, leaning into Clint’s side. Clint started to respond but was interrupted by Vision.

“I do not think Tony will approve of your plans. Have you forgotten about your prior engagements for this Sunday?” he asked, and man was it ever going to stop being weird that he and Jarvis were, like, brothers?

Bucky and Clint exchanged a look. “Uh,” Clint said, closing his eyes as though it would help him remember. “That’s a hard no from me, apparently. What’s this Sunday?”

As if on cue, Tony stepped into the room, Steve on his heels, and covered his arc reactor with his hand in mock anguish.

“You wound me! Did you really forget the Annual Stark Charity Ball? The one that occurs annually, on the same weekend every year that every single one of us is required by contract to attend? Did you really forget?” Tony slumped into the nearest armchair and let out a sigh. “Because if you did, you should tell me how you managed that. I’d like to forget about it, too.” 

Clint groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Aw, Charity Ball, but why?”

Bucky snorted. “That really makes you sound like an ass, ya know that, right?”

Clint grumbled, but luckily Steve jumped in to explain. “You’ll see for yourself, Buck. It’s nice and all, but it’s pretty lavish and over the top. You’ve gotta wear a suit, and do your hair nice, and dance with dames for the cameras even. I think most of us would prefer to just write a donation check and stay home, but it really is a good cause.” 

Tony let out a chuckle and looked up at Steve, who was leaning against the back of the armchair that Tony had taken up as his own. “Even you sound confused about whether it’s a good thing or not. Look,” Tony leveled his gaze towards Bucky, “we all show up, write big checks, and every dime from the entrance fee for civilians or investors goes with our money towards the New York Reparations Fund that SHIELD started after the Chitauri invasion. So, we kinda gotta put on our big boy and girl pants and do it whether we like it or not.” 

“I’m gonna stop you right there. You guys keep saying ‘we,’ as if I’m included. I was in Russia when that battle went down, so I think I should get a pass on having to put on a penguin suit and dance with strange women for the media. Thanks, but no thank you.” Bucky clapped his hands once as though that was the end of the conversation and Clint felt kind of bad for him because he knew full well what was coming next. He decided to get the ball rolling himself.

“Hey, Bucky? Remember the contract you signed when Fury decided to up your clearance to attend missions?”

Bucky turned those pretty eyes to Clint. “Yeah?”

“Didja happen to read all the fine print?”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide and he whipped his head around at Steve. “You!”

Steve had the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t think you’d mind! You used ta love dancin’ Buck. It never bothered you none when people would watch like they did, either.”

“You told me there wouldn’t be anything in there I wouldn’t agree to! Ugh, you little shit, why do I keep trustin’ you all blindly?!” And Clint thought about what a cutting remark that would be if it wasn’t evident that Bucky was half serious and half accepting of his fate. 

No longer sitting tall, Bucky slumped back and rolled his head onto Clint’s shoulder. All was quiet in the room aside from Vision clearing his throat, an obvious sign of his awkwardness because none of them were stupid enough to forget that there was literally no reason for him to ever do that, ever. 

When Bucky shot straight back up into a sitting position, everyone in the room jumped. 

“But do I have to dance with dames?” Bucky asked, aiming the question at Tony.

Tony shrugged. “It looks good to engage with others and to get your groove on, makes for good PR, but I think you could get a pass on the boogy-ing down with your,” Tony waved his hand around aimlessly, “situation.” 

“I mean,” Bucky started, and then looked at the floor. “What if I wanted to dance with a fella?”

Tony, bless his little blue heart, didn’t miss a beat. “Whatever rocks your boat, Barnes.”

And Clint didn’t know how to feel, or what to think, because while he assumed that Bucky might want to dance with him, what if he wanted to dance with some other guy? Thor, or Bruce, or maybe a civilian? The agent from HR had the hots for Bucky, it was a well-known fact, what if Bucky wanted to-

“Whaddya think?” Bucky asked, attention back on Clint. “Would it ruin your night too much, having a senior citizen on your arm?”

Oh. _OH_

Clint plastered on a grin. “My style is impossible to cramp, old man, but I’d love to see you try. Sounds like fun.”

And Steve actually said “Aww, you guys,” and Tony was smiling, and Vision looked decidedly out of place and like he wanted to sink through the first available surface that would get him the hell out of there. 

“But!” Clint said, shooting a wink at Bucky before turning to where Tony and Steve were, “I don’t think it’d be very fair if we were the only dude-on-dude action happening there. Might draw a big crowd, and I know that would make you uncomfortable, right?” Clint nudged Bucky with his elbow, who at first made a confused sound before the proverbial light bulb went off. 

“Right! What are we gonna do about that?” And dammit, Bucky sounding so innocent should not be causing parts of Clint’s body this level of discomfort. 

“I think Tony and Steve should go together, too,” Clint said, and nearly lost his composure when Bucky literally _gasped_. “What do you guys think? Do us a favor?”

And boy oh boy, apparently all Super Soldiers looked fucking adorable when they turned bright scarlet. And was that a bead of sweat on Tony’s forehead? Oh, Clint was the greatest. 

“I mean-”

“I guess-”

“If it would make Bucky more comfortable-”

“We don’t need him to freak and start arming people to death-”

“Tony!” Bucky scolded, sending him two middle fingers. “Fuck off, for that.”

“Welp, it sounds like a date! Awesome, you guys’ll look like a dream dancin’ together. Dontcha think, Buck?” Clint said dreamily, ecstatic to be alive.

Bucky grinned. “Ya know, Clint? I think they really will.”

*

Usually, if someone would have woken Clint up by breaking into his apartment at 3:30 am on a Saturday morning, Clint would have 1. Had a heart attack and then 2. Either died from said heart attack or kicked the living shit outta whoever had the balls. 

However, the fact that it was clearly a metal hand rubbing circles into his bare shoulder elicited nothing stronger than a bit of worry and confusion instead of nut-twisting fear and defensive action.

“Bucky?” Clint groaned, opening his eyes to darkness and silence. Shit. “Jarvis, lights to 50%, please.”

When the lights came up Clint made out Bucky kneeling by his bed, his left hand on Clint’s shoulder and his right extended, palm open in front of Clint’s face, offering him the hearing aids that he kept on his bedside table. Clint took them and inserted them sloppily, rolling over to get a better look at his visitor. 

“You okay?” Bucky looked okay but then, this wasn’t typical behavior.

“Yeah, I’m….I think so? I just wanted to know. I mean, I was wondering if.” Bucky blew his hair from his eyes with a puff of breath. “Jesus Christ, this was stupid. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.” 

Clint reached out and snagged Bucky’s wrist before he could make his retreat. “Babe, no, don’t do that. What’s going on?” Sure that Bucky wouldn’t leave, Clint released him and sat up, leaning back against the headboard. He motioned for Bucky to sit on the bed, only remembering to be mildly self-conscious about the fact that he was shirtless and only in his boxers when Bucky followed through. 

Clint stared at Bucky, and Bucky stared back, cheeks an alarming color. Shit, was Clint’s junk showing? He checked as discreetly as possible; no, he was safe there. Had he done something else to make Bucky uncomfortable? He played the last minute back in his sleep-fuzzy brain, and...oh.

“Did I call you ba-”

“I loved it,” Bucky blurted, looking all the more mortified for doing so. And shit, that was so _awesome_ that Clint could only respond with a vague “hnnngh.” 

Suddenly, Bucky thrust something forward into Clint’s hands. Clint figured he should have been more startled at the fact that James Barnes was practically throwing a pair of scissors at him during the witching hour, but Thor had once nonchalantly tossed a roasted Asgardian hog onto the dining table before declaring a Feast in the name of Midgard’s Sir Elton John, so really, nothing would ever seem unusual after that. 

“Can you cut my hair?” Bucky asked, bringing Clint back to the present. His voice was unsure but pretending to be sure; the words hard and rushed as though he didn’t want to change his mind. Clint thought about asking why then, why the matter was urgent enough to wake before the sun or the rest of the city, why Bucky seemed so desperate...but he decided against it. This was obviously important to Bucky, which meant that it was important to Clint and therefore needed no questioning. 

Clint nodded and threw back his covers to get out of bed. He watched Bucky adorably avert his eyes as Clint leaned down to pull on a pair of cotton pajama pants, and the flush that darkened Bucky’s face even further pushed Clint to decide to forego a shirt altogether.

That, and the combination of not being fully awake multiplied by knowing that if he put a shirt on, he would be a trap for the annoying little cut hairs that would soon be falling to the ground, and fuck did Clint hate that itchy shit.

“Grab a towel out of the closet for me? I need coffee. You need me to need coffee, trust me,” Clint said around a yawn as he padded past Bucky and out of his room, heading towards the kitchen with scissors in hand. Once the coffee was brewing and Bucky had procured a towel, Clint set the towel on the floor in the middle of the living room and had Jarvis turn the lights to 100%. He opened a folding chair and set it on the towel, motioning for Bucky to sit.

“Shirt off, unless you want to be prickled to death,” Clint called from the kitchen, debating on pouring a mug of coffee or just taking the damn pot with him. He met himself in the middle, pouring a mug for Bucky and bringing out the pot for himself. Bucky was already shirtless by the time he got back, and Clint couldn’t help but make an offhand comment about it.

“You know, I think moving forward this should be the standard dress code,” he joked, motioning towards their bare chests and pj pants.

Bucky smiled, sly. “I gotta say, this is probably the queerest thing I’ve ever done. Shirtless haircut by a shirtless superhero in his apartment.” Clint laughed before catching the look on Bucky’s face, and the laugh turned into a choke.

“Seriously? I mean, I know you couldn’t be super out in the open about it back then, but this can’t be the gayest gay thing you’ve ever done.”

Bucky seemed to think for a moment, looking for a response. “No, you’re right,” he decided, “that had to have been that pretty ‘rad’ massage I got from you not too long ago.” He winked, and Clint groaned.

“You are an asshole who is going to kill me,” Clint said, finally extending the coffee mug. He couldn’t help but adore the clinking sound that Bucky’s hand made against the ceramic as he wrapped his hand around the handle.

Okay, Clint was waxing poetic in his mind about the Super Soldier Ex-Russian Assassin’s Metal Robot Arm Acoustics. Who the and what the fuck and why.

Clearing his throat and downing half the pot of coffee (his taste buds were accustomed, okay, so don’t worry), Clint set the pot down and approached Bucky cautiously. Bucky helpfully handed him the brush from his own bathroom counter and Clint parted Bucky’s hair down the middle, enjoying the feel of the silky brown locks in his fingers once more.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, Soldier? A little off the bottom, a tasteful pixie cut? I bet Steve would love you with a mohawk.”

Bucky chuckled. “Reel it in a bit, man. Um, nothing too crazy. I was sort of wanting it to look...how it used to look, back then, maybe a few inches longer because I think I sorta like it longer? I don’t know, I shoulda brought one of those pictures from the museum pamphlet.”

Clint shook his head, eyeing Bucky’s head from a different angle. “Nah, no need. I spent enough time staring at your face when I was a horny teenager, I know what it used to look like.” And whoops, Clint had never ever intended for that little bit of information to escape.

Bucky looked shell-shocked, and then he looked like the smug little shit that he was. “Well, ain’t that interesting,” he teased. “No wonder you were so eager to get your hands on me.”

Clint refused to blush. Wasn’t going to happen. He shrugged, instead. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

Bucky shook his head, his smile unwavering. Clint leaned in with the scissors, ready to make the first snip, when Bucky leaned back.

“You know, I never did ask if you knew what you were doin’ with my hair. Seems like something I should maybe ask.”

Clint grinned. “I wouldn’t butcher this lovely mane, Buck. Used to cut each other’s hair all the time back in the circus, and I've cut my own hair plenty of times for missions or undercover. I cut Tasha’s and Bruce’s hair when they need it. You’re in good hands.”

Bucky seemed to relax at that and he sat up straight. “Alright, Hawkeye,” he breathed, and closed his eyes. “Don’t screw it up.”

And as Clint began to snip away, inches falling off of the bottom of Bucky’s hair, he couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky wasn’t talking about something more important that this haircut. Because it was all important when it came to Bucky. The idea that, over the last six or so months, they had become close enough for Bucky to trust Clint with a pair of blades near this throat? That meant more to Clint than just about anything else had ever meant to him. 

Clint worked in silence, pieces of Bucky’s hair dusting the ground like snow around Clint’s bare feet. Bucky was breathing shallowly, and Clint ensured that he stay focused on his task regardless of the building ache in his chest. 

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he started to talk. “You know, the last time my Ma saw me was the shortest my hair’s ever been, just before shipping off. She was proud of me, scared and proud, but when she saw me she looked downright sad. ‘You’ve always looked so handsome with some length to your hair, James,’ she said. I don’t remember a lot from my time with her, but I remember that plain as day.” Silence again except for the snip, snip, snip. And then, “I’m going to visit where she’s buried tomorrow, or today, however ya choose to look at it. I’ve not been there yet. I wanted...needed to look cleaned up. She’d roll in her grave if she saw my hair halfway to my ass.”

Clint fought the tightness in his throat. “Bet she’d think you were handsome anyway,” he said, splitting Bucky’s hair to the side with the brush. “Do you want some company when you go?”

Bucky’s reply was almost immediate. “Nah. I’d like to see her on my own. Steve asked just the same when I told him, and I figured you would, too, but I wanna give her my undivided attention if that’s okay?”

Clint scoffed. “Of course that’s okay. Anything you want, Buck, is okay. I hope you find what you’re lookin’ for with your visit.”

Bucky’s eyes shone brightly when he looked up at Clint, who paused what he was doing to look back. 

“Anything I want?” Bucky asked, and Clint’s stomach dipped low. He nodded before putting the scissors in his mouth and using both hands to test the length of Bucky’s hair on both sides. He figured it was a good reason to not open his mouth and insert his foot.

“What I really want is to take you to that ball tomorrow,” Bucky said. Clint felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion and he removed the scissors from between his lips. 

“I thought that was the plan already?”

Bucky chewed at his bottom lip, looking like he was making a choice. “Yeah,” he said eventually, “but I want to take you on my arm, for real and not as a joke. I want to take you as my fella.”

Clint dropped the fucking scissors. 

They clattered to the floor and he jumped back at the same time that Bucky lifted his feet. Both uninjured by Clint’s spectacular lack of coordination and ability to keep his cool, they relaxed.

“You want it to be a date? Like a romantic date? Like, by fella, do you mean partner? Or shit, we’re already partners, uh, non-sniper partners? Of the ‘life’ variety? You want to take me as your boyfriend?” See previously mentioned inability of Clint to keep his cool. 

Bucky looked like he was trying not to laugh or bolt. He nodded, slowly. “Yeah, I do. If you’ll have me?”

Clint’s world grew brighter and he would kiss Tony’s shoes next time he ran into the man, for creating the hearing aids that allowed him to hear Bucky Barnes utter those words.

“I’ll have you, Buck. Fuck, yes, I’ll have you.”

And then he was crushed by a warm embrace, Bucky having stood and wrapped his arms around Clint’s back, nuzzling his forehead against Clint’s neck. Clint was gonna die, it was a sure thing, but damn if it wouldn’t be the sweetest death.

“Your hair’s done, by the way. Good timing, cuz my adrenaline is pumping so high right now that I probably woulda fucked it all up if I had to keep going,” Clint joked, and Bucky pulled back. He ran both hands through his hair, loosening the stray strands, and bolted to the bathroom. Clint followed, too full of glee to let Bucky out of his sight, and there was nothing more beautiful in the world than the grin that spread across Bucky’s face when he saw himself in the mirror. 

“I’ll be damned,” Bucky said, ruffling his hair a bit. “You’re a lucky man, sweetheart. I’m a catch.”

Clint could only laugh and hope that it wasn’t so loud to wake Steve through the vents.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. I hope I've done the ending justice. 
> 
> Thank you all for being so wonderful, always!

Clint slept until the early afternoon, feeling heavy and sated as he dressed and dragged himself down to the shared floor to see who else was awake. Tony, Steve, and Thor were nowhere to be found according to Sam and Wanda, who were playing rummy at the dining room table. Bruce was in his lab coat with an apple in his mouth and a mug of tea as he exited the kitchen to join them. 

“They’re prepping the hall for the Charity Ball,” Bruce explained. “Vision has been helping me out with soldering, he’s still in the lab. Nat’s shopping, which is nerve-wracking, I haven’t seen anyone else around. Bucky let us know not too long ago that he was heading to the cemetery in Brooklyn.”

Clint nodded. “Figured as much. I’m just glad I didn’t get pulled into party prep. I hate that shit.” 

“You did good on Bucky’s hair,” Sam piped up, “made the bastard look even younger than he already did. Damn soldiers in their nineties lookin’ younger and better than the rest of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wanda said, a small smile on her face. Clint laughed and settled into a day of lounging, card games, and bad television. 

As the hours passed, Bruce made his way back to the lab and Wanda disappeared back to her and Vision’s apartment after dinner, which consisted of Sam being an awesome guy and making turkey club sandwiches for the three of them. Sam and Clint got in a few hours of games before calling it quits, splitting a tub of popcorn on the couch and watching Mean Girls because nobody was around to give them shit.

It was a touch after 11:00 when Bucky came into the room silently. Even in the darkness, Clint could see from the light of the tv that he had been crying, eyes puffy and watery. Without a word Clint put the popcorn down and opened his arms. Bucky fell into them instantly, collapsing on the couch between Clint and Sam. Bucky curled the top half of his body onto Clint’s lap and stretched out, putting his legs and feet into Sam’s, who looked shocked for all of a millisecond before schooling his expression into something soft. 

Bucky didn’t cry or so much as sniffle as he lay there, Clint stroking his hair and Sam circling his thumb lightly over his ankle. The sound of the tv was the only noise, but Clint couldn’t even hear it over the sound of his heart thumping, beating painfully in his chest at the sight of Bucky aching, at the sight of him seeking physical comfort. Clint had never understood the meaning of bitter-sweet until that moment, not truly. 

When Steve and Tony found them half an hour later, Bucky was sound asleep, Clint and Sam trying to stay still as statues. Steve halted so quickly that Tony ran into his back and stumbled like an idiot, and man was it hard for Clint not to laugh at seeing Steve epitomize the function of a brick wall. The humor faded due to the expression on Steve’s face; it wasn’t the usual grin or proud papa face that they were getting used to whenever Bucky functioned like a normal person. Rather, he looked like he was going to cry and Clint was definitely going to have to find the vodka because all of these feelings were fucking exhausting. 

After a moment, Steve stepped forward and motioned towards Bucky, question evident. Clint nodded and Steve leaned down, scooping Bucky up bridal style. Naturally, Bucky opened his eyes but when he saw that it was Steve, he burrowed into the hold and mumbled something that Clint couldn’t make out. Steve’s eyebrows shot up, but he looked towards Clint all the same.

“He wants me to take him to your place. That okay?” Steve asked in a whisper. Oh, hell, Clint couldn’t _take_ the sweet burning that flooded his body. 

“Yeah, ‘course. Put him in my bed.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up further and Clint wasn’t sure if they were still there or if they had been eaten by his hairline. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch, Dad. Scout’s honor.” Clint spelled out. Steve seemed to relax at that and disappeared with Bucky out of the room.

Nobody said anything for a minute, and when Tony opened his mouth with a gleeful glint in his eyes Sam beat Clint to saying “Not a word.” Fuck. Clint loved Sam. 

*

It took a few minutes of processing and beer-related emotional regulation for Clint to make his way back to his apartment. As expected, Bucky had been deposited into his bed and the sight of him curled, fully clothed in everything but his shoes, around Clint’s blankets and pillows was the most perfect fucking sight in the world. Clint turned to make his way to grab a blanket from his closet when Bucky stirred.

“Nuh uh. In,” Bucky said, rolling over to the side of the bed closest to the wall, giving Clint space. Clint clicked his tongue without meaning to, and what kind of reaction even was that?

“I promised Steve I’d sleep on the couch,” Clint stated dumbly. Bucky made a small sound.

“Clint, I know 29 different ways to kill you with this pillow, and Steve at worst will give you a disappointed look. Now, if you’d rather sleep on the couch go for it, but I don’t think you’d rather sleep on the couch.”

And could Clint argue that? No, no, he couldn’t. 

It took them a few minutes of finagling, but eventually they settled, Clint spooned around Bucky’s back, Bucky holding his arm firmly around his waist. Clint’s lips rested lightly against the back of Bucky’s neck and oh, that was an unexpected bonus of the shorter hair. 

Clint was nearly asleep when he felt a vibration in Bucky’s chest. 

“Sorry, babe, just let me get one of my aids in,” Clint said and rolled back, grabbing one off of the bedside table.

“Right. That was pretty stupid of me, I kinda forgot. Sorry,” Bucky was saying, and Clint reslotted himself back into position. 

“Nah. It’s alright. What were you saying?”

“I was just thinking that you were right, before. You’re a pretty decent cuddler. 9/10, would recommend.”

Clint laughed. “You gotta stop hanging around the Spider-Kid, Buck. He’s rubbing off on you. I’m pretty sure I heard you say _’yeet’_ the other day? I don’t even know what that means.”

Bucky chuckled sleepily. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, old man. It made Wade giggle so it was worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” Clint said, trying to somehow turn it into an insult, but it didn’t really work.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure I got the stupid ‘would recommend’ comment from you, so lay off the kid. He keeps me young.”

Clint made a vague sound, struggling to keep his eyes open. A few silent moments ticked by before he burst with a question that was nagging him.

“Bucky? Why only a 9 outta 10 and not a perfect 1-0?”

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Kay,” Clint responded, yanking out his aid and tossing it back to the bedside table without looking. He debated on telling Bucky that he’d never slept beside anybody without wearing them, but couldn’t find the energy before drifting off to sleep. 

*

When Clint woke up the next morning, the bed was empty and Natasha was sitting in a chair in the corner. A chair that most definitely hadn’t ever been in his room before.

“Did you bring your own chair into my apartment to make your creepy spy sleep-stalking possible? You’ve reached a whole new level of impressive,” Clint said, groaning as he stretched. Natasha’s mouth stayed shut until Clint popped his aids in.

“What can I say? You’re angelic, laying in a pool of your own drool,” Natasha responded, folding her arms over her chest. “I can think of no other way I would rather start my morning than trying to stare at you to death.”

Clint swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure of receiving early morning death threats?”

Natasha scoffed. “Clint, it’s after noon, you adorable caveman.”

“Aw. You’re being so nice this morning.”

She actually smiled at that, and the smile grew into something wicked as she watched Clint notice the garment bag draped across the end of his bed. 

“What are-”

“Wear the shirt with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. He likes your forearms,” Natasha said, voice leaving no room for questions or arguments. She stood from the chair and within a second had it folded into something slim and portable. Clint feigned not being intrigued. “Tony wants the message passed along that if anybody’s late, they’re not getting weapons upgrades until 2028. So I’ll see you at seven sharp, Clinton.”

She was nearly out of the room when Clint cleared his throat to stop her. 

“Tash?”

She turned. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. You know I’m bad at these things. And as long as there aren’t a pair of assless chaps in that bag, I owe you one.”

Natasha heaved a sigh. “I’ll add it to your tab.” She winked at him and left him to tentatively open the bag himself, resulting in an appreciative whistle that she heard as she exited the apartment.

*

“Natalia.”

It was Bucky’s standard greeting for her and given their history, the clinical and polite delivery was more than appropriate.

“Hello, James. I’ve been searching around for you, didn’t expect to find you up here.” The wind whipping around on the roof of the Tower threatened to carry her voice away completely but well, Super Soldier hearing. 

“I like having a high vantage point. ‘S good to have an eye on my surroundings.”

Natasha approached him, standing at his side near the railing as she hummed. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before, but now the evidence just keeps rearing its head.”

Bucky looked confused. “Evidence for what?”

“The two of you. You’re so perfect for each other that it makes me wonder how I could have missed it until recently.”

Bucky felt a rush at her words, not needing any clarification. The truth of the matter was that he had spent all morning thinking just along those lines, having woken up with Clint draped across him like a blanket, sleeping and warm, drooling and perfect.

“Does it bother you?” Bucky asked, doing his best to be considerate despite how awkward he found the topic.

Natasha faced him then, eyes wide and sharp. “It will only bother me if you hurt him.”

Bucky nodded, expecting as much. “Just so you know, that is probably my biggest fear. I can promise that I’ll do everything within my conscious power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Natasha’s face grew stern. “I don’t care one iota if it’s conscious or unconscious. If you damage him, I will destroy you. I urge you to remember that I have all of the knowledge I need to pull it off.”

For some reason, Bucky found himself smiling, though he knew through and through that she was being honest to the bone. His body flooded with happiness, joy, contentment.

“You love him,” Bucky stated, ensuring that it wasn’t a question. 

Natasha answered viscerally. “Of course.”

“I love him, too, Natalia.”

And she started at that, a jerk of her body so slight that anyone else would have missed it, eyes widening by a millimeter and lips parting by half that. Bucky waited her out, held her gaze. Eventually, she inhaled and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

He didn’t flinch, and she softened.

“Good. Don’t be late to the party. I got you appropriate clothes because I know you favor that grey hoodie but Tony would skin you alive. There’s also a gift for you in the lab, make sure you stop by while Tony’s still there.” With that, she squeezed his shoulder and sauntered off, leaving Bucky wondering (far from the first time in his life) what he had done to deserve her.

“Oh, and don’t wear the suit jacket. Roll your sleeves up, too; Clint has a major arm kink when it comes to you,” she hollered over her shoulder before stepping inside.

Alone of the roof, Bucky blushed.

*

“Buckaroo!” Tony shouted from somewhere in the lab. “I’ve got an upgrade for you, you know the drill.”

Bucky felt both surprised and suspicious; Tony had completed the most recent upgrade on his arm less than a month ago, and it had been functioning like a dream. Not only that, but typically Tony had him in the lab daily to test function, range of motion and comfort before finalizing anything new, and there hadn’t even been a peep about him working on anything other than his next suit and Steve’s new shield.

Regardless, Bucky did know the drill and so he followed the protocol, stripping himself of his hoodie and t-shirt until he was down to his undershirt and hopping up onto the usual lab chair. He barely had to wait for Tony, who rounded the corner looking like a few billion dollars in a deep red suit, hair perfectly gelled and facial hair trimmed so crisply that the only thing Bucky could think was ‘good thing Stevie heals quick, he’s gonna cut himself on that edge.’

“Lookin’ sharp, Tony,” Bucky said, trying not to stare at the large case that Tony was hauling along with him. Tony grinned and slammed the case onto its side on the lab table, popping it open in such a way that Bucky still couldn’t see the contents. 

“Why thank you, dear. Turns out I got a hot date tonight who I can’t let one up me, because let’s face it, none of us would be able to handle the ego,” Tony cracked, coming over to Bucky’s side and putting his hands up. “May I?”

Bucky nodded with no hesitation, feeling giddy at hearing Stark joke about his date with Steve, not minding in the least when Tony easily disengaged and removed his prosthetic. Before, when he had first gotten to the tower ( _before Clint helped me fix myself_ ), Bucky had to be given animal tranquilizer in order for Stark to fuck with his arm but now? Bucky found himself feeling grateful and even cared for.

“Now,” Tony continued, still grinning like a child as he reached into the case, “this is just as much a gift for your boy as it is for you, but I still kept you in mind.” 

When Tony pulled out an entirely new prosthetic, Bucky felt his jaw drop. The lights in the lab didn’t reflect off of this arm; instead, the dark violet matte finish on the plates drank in the brightness rather than bounce it back. The arm was gorgeous, a work of art like everything else Tony whipped into creation, and Bucky noticed immediately that the aesthetic change wasn’t the only difference once the arm was slotted into place and activated. 

“What,” Bucky breathed, wiggling his fingers and lifting the arm over his head, “how did you?” 

“Clint may have mentioned that you could benefit from a less strenuous lift, so instead of being made entirely of vibranium like your last two, this baby is made of steel with vibranium plating. Half the weight, half the strain.”

Bucky opened his mouth to spew out gratitude, but Tony wasn’t finished.

“Uh uh, not yet, I’m not done. Here, take this for me,” Tony said, reaching over to the table and grabbing a mug of some sort, steaming as Tony passed it to Bucky. Bucky took it with his left hand, and once his brain caught on to what was happening he instantly dropped the mug. It shattered to the floor, clear liquid going everywhere, but rather than seem annoyed Tony laughed with glee.

“It was...it was warm!” Bucky choked out, and Tony clapped him on the back.

“You got that, huh? You owe me, I had to Skype the little Wakandan Princess herself to work out how to configure touch sensors past the standard pressure sensors that you had before. They’re not perfect, but if the arm works to spec then you should be at about 70% full touch perception in your left hand.”

And Jesus Fucking Christ, the last thing that James Buchanan Barnes ever wanted to do was cry in front of Anthony Edward Stark, yet here they were.

“I don’t deserve this,” Bucky whispered, watching his left hand open and close, able to feel the sensation in his fingertips and palm when they met each other. “Why did you do this for me?”

He couldn’t look at Tony when he answered, and Tony didn’t ask him to.

“Because you’re on my team, and my team is my family. I take care of my family, best I can.”

Bucky let loose a wet laugh. “I feel like it’s an insult to you, having to consider me family, after what I did.”

“Bullshit, Barnes. What you did? The only things I’ve ever seen you do is, let’s tick them off the list here; fight against 70 years of Nazi brainwashing rather than hurt your friend, go to therapy longer than any of us have managed, pull your weight and then some as a member of this team, represent the Avengers exactly as you should, and somehow manage to make Clint happy, and not ironically or sarcastically happy, but honest-to-Odin himself happy. And you think it’s an insult to consider you family? No offense, but fuck you, Soldier. It’s an honor.”

Clint had taught Bucky that consent was so important, and yet it didn’t even occur to him to ask if it would be okay before Bucky threw himself around Tony, pulling him to his chest, Tony’s back warm and rising beneath both hands.

“Thank you,” Bucky managed, feeling as though something infinitely heavy had been released from within the cage of his chest with Tony’s words. “I can’t think of a better guy for Steve than you Tony, and I mean that.”

Tony chuckled uncomfortably and patted Bucky’s back before they stepped out of the hug. “Is this the part where I get the shovel talk?” Tony asked, and Bucky shot him a genuine smile, tears finally drying on his cheeks.

“Nah. I think after this I’m gonna have to threaten his life if he ever hurts you, not the other way around. Besides, you’ll probably get one from Natasha and let me tell you, that’s scary enough.”

Tony’s smile fell from his face so quickly at the thought that Bucky couldn’t breathe with his laughter.

*

It was 6:54 pm, Clint was riding down to the main floor of the Tower in the teams’ private elevator, and his palms were sweaty as fuck. 

He imagined that he would be even more overheated had his Natasha-appointed getup come with an actual jacket, but luckily it hadn’t. He could feel cool air through the layers of his black dress shirt and gunmetal gray vest, matching tie looking stellar, particularly for a clip on. His heart had warmed at the sight of the thing; Nat knew him enough to know that he would have been in trouble with an actual friggan necktie. 

He felt good, and he figured that he looked alright if the sweeping glances of civilians and politicians were anything to go by once he stepped off of the elevator. He weaved in and out of the bodies crowding the lobby, folks waiting for the hall doors to open. He avoided all direct eye contact but smiled and nodded his head in reaction to hearing his name called out by a few of them, holding his hand up to wave nonchalantly at a flashing camera bulb. By the time he reached the door, his teeth ached from the false grin, and he kept reminding himself that while he hated playing it up for reporters he didn’t have to like it; he just had to do it. 

“Heya, Happy,” Clint called out as he approached the closed door. Happy tipped his head and reached behind himself to open the door and let Clint slip through. 

“You’re cutting it awfully close, Barton,” Happy grunted as he passed by. “Last one in with two minutes to go. Tony might kill you.”

Clint’s responding grin was real this time. “I’m not worried about him. He’s got somethin’ else on his mind, anyway. Thanks for the heads up though.”

Sure enough, Happy was right. The rest of the team was already on the stage, lounging in the line of chairs set up in the center from where they would be introduced, along with their donations to the cause, before the DJ would get the party started. One chair remained empty and Clint locked his eyes on it rather than search the line for Bucky, hit with a powerful case of nerves that erupted out of nowhere. 

His avoidance had a shelf life of mere seconds, apparently, due to the fact that Clint sat between Bucky and Natasha. Because of course. 

Clint watched Bucky notice when he occupied his seat, pulling away from his conversation with Sam on his other side. Bucky met Clint’s eyes and started to smile, the action freezing as his eyes roamed over Clint’s body, stopping for a solid few seconds on his arms and right. Clint would have to thank Nat later.

Clint aimed his eyes away from Bucky’s roaming gaze, unable to handle it and figuring that he could drink his fill as well. Bucky’s body was angled away from him, still turned mostly left towards Sam, and Clint made a spinning motion with his finger.

“This feels pretty one-sided, Soldier,” he joked, voice cracking unintentionally. Bucky blushed and shifted in his chair, and oh holy fucking God in space, Heaven or Asgard, Clint’s mouth actually _watered_. Bucky’s hair was styled, gelled but still looking deliciously touchable. He wore a black dress shirt buttoned beneath a deep purple vest, a matching skinny tie, and who the fuck had painted the nails on Bucky’s right hand black and since when was that a major insta-turn on for Clint?

Clint’s eyes roamed over to Bucky’s prosthetic, and he sucked in a breath at the design. His blood was rushing with such force that he could hear it, could feel his pulse everywhere. He dragged his eyes up to meet Bucky’s, taking in his perfectly messy 5 o'clock shadow and oh, there was eyeliner and Clint wasn’t going to make it.

“You’re lookin’ fantastic, Doll,” Bucky choked out, clearing his throat, blush reaching high enough to smatter his cheekbones. Was that because of Clint? Holy shit, it was because of Clint. Clint stumbled for words of his own and debated on simply throwing out a double thumbs up before he was saved by the dimming lights and the opening doors.

He could have called Bucky beautiful. He could have called him gorgeous, perfect, effervescent, sexy, breathtaking. Hell, he could call Bucky any of those things at any given moment but in that moment, with his color dripping all over the man he adored, Clint needed time to figure out how to function as a human being again, let alone try to be smooth and flirty. 

The hall filled quickly with lavish gowns and tuxedos, camera flashes and video recorders blinding as Tony made the opening statements and the heroes went down the line to announce their donations that year. Clint kept to his standard $50k donation (what else was he going to use his ridiculous SHIELD pay for? Dog food, pizza and beer wasn’t that expensive) and of course Tony topped the charts with a donation to the City of New York of a cool five million. When the mic was passed to Bucky, Clint could tell he was nervous. It was cute.

“Hello, I’m James Barnes and this is my first year attending this...event. Uhm, I’ll be donating two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Thanks.” He passed the mic on over to Sam and looked startled at the thunderous applause and sounds of surprise from the crowd. Clint could feel his own eyes bugging out.

“Dude,” Clint whispered once Sam had started talking, which yeah, he knew: rude, “that’s some serious cash for not even having been around to break the city.”

Bucky shrugged and leaned over, whispering back. “Family money. We weren’t rich or anything, but apparently, that much interest makes a difference. Besides, I’m a part of the family, right? Even if that means having to pay for all you idiots’ mistakes.” He winked, and Clint couldn’t even scold himself as his mind immediately wandered to whether or not Bucky would consider wearing that outfit to their future wedding. Because Bucky was perfect.

Not long after, the music started and the team was free to dance, mingle, and get backed into corners for awkward and uncomfortable interviews. Clint wasn’t surprised to see Bucky get almost immediately surrounded by interested parties; he was new, sordid, and alluring. Clint, however, managed to blend in well, watching the room with precision and interest as he sipped this and that from the open bar. 

After awhile Clint decided that he could be a good bro and help Bucky out, especially since he was no longer surrounded by media or government officials, instead circled by a few overenthusiastic ladies. Bucky was stammering when Clint walked up, wrapping an arm around the back of Bucky’s waist. 

“Hey, babe. I like this song. Wanna tango?” Clint asked, yelling above the music a little louder than necessary. Bucky sagged against him in relief.

“I’d love to, sweetheart,” Bucky said, sending a smile to the three women who were now watching the exchange with interest. “It was a pleasure, gals, but my guy’s here to whisk me away. Enjoy your night.”

Clint didn’t miss the looks of surprise or disappointment, and he laughed as he pulled Bucky to the dance floor. In reality, he had no idea what song was playing but there was a decent beat, so it would make due. 

“Your guy, huh?” Clint asked, tone amused as he swung around to face Bucky, not moving his arm from Buck’s lower back. Bucky looked a bit sheepish.

“I’m sorry. I guess we didn’t talk about how...public it would be. This, I mean, Us.” Bucky cringed. “Is that okay to say?”

Clint leaned forward, nuzzling his forehead against Bucky’s as he started to sway his hips a bit. He was grinning, couldn’t help it.

“Hell, Buck, I ain’t ashamed to have the most delectable guy here, and probably on the entire planet. I’m thrilled at the thought that you would claim me.”

Bucky’s expression went from sheepish to downright _predatory_ , and a shiver raced down Clint’s spine. Bucky stepped in closer, moving his own hands to grip Clint’s thighs and he brought them flush together, undulated as he did so. Clint gasped at the sudden friction, surprised at Bucky’s forwardness. 

“Who taught you how to grind, old man? I figured you would need a tutorial,” Clint quipped though breathless, fitting their rhythm to the beat.

Bucky let out a huff and they were so close that Clint could feel his breath on his face. “Spidey and Wade showed me what to do,” he said, moving his mouth closer to Clint’s ear. “I wanted to be good, for you.”

And Clint groaned. He slotted against Bucky as closely as possible, dropped his forehead against Bucky’s neck, and let the music take them.

*

Twenty minutes later and covered with a fine sheen of sweat, Clint and Bucky stepped away from each other for the first time since they’d started dancing. The music had shifted into something slow and melodic and oh, but Bucky was moving Clint’s hands up onto his shoulders, Bucky’s own hands finding their place lightly on Clint’s hips once more. Clint clasped his hands behind Bucky’s neck and pulled back just enough to get a good look at his partner as they swayed.

Behind them, Clint caught a glimpse of Steve and Tony wrapped around each other, ignoring the mass of photographers behind them. Aw, Clint had played a hand in that, and it warmed him. When he looked back to Bucky, it was obvious that he had noticed as well, his face goofy and gleeful.

“So I guess we did it, huh?” Clint asked softly, refocusing on their moment. When Bucky looked at him quizzically, Clint smiled. “Your list. We finished it.”

A flash of something that looked suspiciously like hurt flooded Bucky’s face before his expression was schooled into something stoic. “Oh,” Bucky said, barely a whisper. “I guess you’re right. I had, uh, kind of forgotten about it today until now.”

Clint was flooded with confusion. “Hey, what did I say? Why the sad face just then? I thought you’d be happy, proud and all that. You met your goal.”

Bucky nodded, averting his eyes from Clint’s. “Yeah, I mean, it’s great. I just.”

Clint stopped in his tracks, unable to focus on keeping in step. “Just what, Bucky?”

It left Bucky in a rush. “I don’t want that to mean anything for us. Just because we’re finished crossing things off. I want...more, than this. With you.” He swallowed hard. “I wanted this to mean more to you and to everyone else than just a task to complete.”

Clint’s air left his lungs. He had recognized at the beginning that Bucky was damaged, that he felt as though he had decades of sin to be forgiven for. Hell, Bucky had spent months apologizing to Tony until Tony had threatened to cut his heat and water lest he stop. Clint knew to his core that there would always be a part of Bucky that doubted he was good enough, that he deserved anything good. God knew that Clint would always be wracked with guilt over things that had been out of his own control. In spite of all that though, Clint had thought that he had made it abundantly clear, his feelings for Bucky. His want to be with him. 

But he had never really actually said it clearly, had he? Ugh, talking was hard.

“Bucky, no. Nothing’s stopping, not unless you want it to. The list was the plan, right? But we’re well beyond that now, all of us. Do you even know how great of a hugger you are? You’ll make the team cry if they’re not allowed to hug you. They fuckin’ love you, Bucky. I...we love you.” Clint felt his cheeks warm, cursed himself for holding back at the last minute but it wasn’t really kosher to drop those three big words in the middle of a first date, was it?

The smile on Bucky’s face grew slowly but steadily as Clint watched his words sink in. Bucky stepped back in close but didn’t start dancing again, just held Clint close to him. 

“It’s a good thing I love all you guys too, then. I woulda been sad hearing otherwise.”

Clint’s belly fluttered at the words. “Yeah?”

Bucky nodded, smile still tugging on his lips. “Yeah, Clint. I don’t wanna scare you, but I do, sweetheart. I love you, an awful lot.”

Joy, and light, and stars exploded within Clint then, burning him up from the inside. Bucky loved him. Bucky loved him. 

_This asshole loves me back._

Clint grinned, leaned his forehead against Bucky’s. “Well that’s real good Buck, cuz I was trying to choose our wedding colors in my head earlier.” FUCK. That was probably...way outta line, oh god, Barton, why don’t you think before you speak?

Bucky scoffed. “That’s an easy one. We both look great in black.”

Clint cocked an eyebrow. “Really? It’ll look like a funeral. I was thinking more along the lines of that pretty purple you’ve got on.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Of course you were.” Bucky’s eyes flicked around Clint’s face before landing on his lips, and Clint could practically feel his own eyes darken as Bucky reached up, cool plated fingers brushing against Clint’s lower lip. Clint closed his eyes and shuddered soon before Bucky did the same.

“So soft…” Bucky murmured. “Can I?”

“Please, Bucky, god, please,” Clint choked out and then this voice was swallowed, lost in the warmth and wetness of Bucky’s mouth moving tentatively against his own. Bucky kissed like he fought; precise, sturdy, controlled pressure. Clint was grateful for it because he had no choice but to let himself be led, so blissed out of his mind and _happy_ that he could only float with the tide of Bucky’s kiss. 

When they parted, breathless, Clint felt something in his mind click into place.

“Wait. Soft?”

Bucky held up his prosthetic hand, wiggled the fingers. “Shuri and Tony figured out how to get most of the feeling back. Which I am very, very grateful for right about now.”

Clint’s heart pounded and his stomach dipped. “Yeah? Eager to get your hands on me, Soldier?”

Something dark glinted in Bucky’s eyes. “Well, I figure that kiss was us jumping straight ahead to number thirteen on the list. Touch’ll probably be helpful for number twelve.”

Clint cocked his head. “But we only had eleven, remember? Pissed me off that we couldn’t get an even number, even tried to add...oh. OH.” Clint licked his suddenly dry lips. “Oh, fuck, I am so here for that idea.”

Bucky blushed and laughed, and damn if Clint wasn’t the luckiest guy alive.

*

(Two years later, they finally settled on black with purple accents. Clint didn’t fight Bucky on it too hard; they both felt like they won, regardless.)


End file.
